


Just A Scratch

by Kahli



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, CEO Kylo Ren, Co-workers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Kylo is an asshole, Rey Is Having None Of It, Slow Burn, Workplace AU, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2019-10-30 13:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahli/pseuds/Kahli
Summary: “Rey, this morning — about what you said in the staffroom.”The memory of the elevator incident immediately causes her to snort with laughter. Her chair now spinning with the merriment of remembering.“You mean when I called that asshole in the elevator a—”“Jumped up, overpaid, Executive’s lapdog.” A sudden voice interrupts from behind her.That voice..Oh fuck.And somewhere in the distance, Phasma is still talking, oblivious to the stand off now happening in the basement.“Rey, that was the Vice CEO.”





	1. System Booting..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I've been itching to write this corporate Reylo fic for the longest time and I'm so excited to finally share it with you!! I actually drew my inspiration from my best friend who is crazy for the Olicity ship from Arrow! She showed me this one scene of Felicity holding up Oliver's remains of a laptop and naturally my first thought was -- Reylo. 
> 
> So here we are! But just a few quick pointers before you dive into it: 
> 
> 1\. Please take all the IT jargon with a pinch of salt. I have no real tangible IT background or experience, I'm just a TA in a school, so whatever mistakes I will most likely make, please just remember it is all just fiction and used to build the story! 
> 
> 2\. That also applies to all corporate jargon and the understanding of what working for a global company entails. Something which, obviously working in a school, I'm not going to be incredibly familiar with. Once again, all just part of the story.
> 
> 3\. I had originally planned to write several chapters before uploading -- obviously I ignored that. So please forgive me if there is a slight gap in the next update. I'm too impatient and I'm still fine-tuning what is coming next. 
> 
> 4\. And lastly.. let me know what you think in the comments down below. Finishing your first ever fic is scary, but starting your second is even scarier! So please let me know if you'd like more of it!

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

**System Booting..**

 

 

 

“I heard the last guy quit after the CEO split his head open with a laptop he threw across the room.”

 

“I thought it was the vice CEO?”

 

“What’s the difference?”

 

“Well I heard it was because he had a nervous breakdown. Apparently the vice CEO didn’t agree with how long it took to reboot the projector in his meeting, so he threw his coffee at him.”

 

Twenty minutes.

 

It’s been like this for twenty agonising minutes — these two men sat either side and leaning right across her lap. She would say something, if she wasn’t sat here waiting to be summoned into the room they were all sat staring at.

 

It wouldn’t leave a very good impression if she turned to both of them and told them to simply shut the fuck up.

 

But _god_ was it tempting.

 

Even if the glass walls ahead of her were soundproof — the occupants inside the office, the two people she was desperate to impress, would definitely see the hand gesture she wanted to shove in both of their faces.

 

Whether the gossiping idiots were right or not, even if the vice CEO was Satan himself, Rey was not going to throw away the chance of a lifetime. The vacancy was for an IT technician — a role so low on the corporate food chain, she would never need to interact with the cause of all the gossip.

 

A position, in a company that hadn’t taken external applications in _two years._

 

This was her foot in the door. The opportunity of a lifetime and she was the only woman in the whole line up for the job. She was not going to let some generic office gossip scare her out the building.

 

So Rey ignores them. She counts to ten, then to a hundred and then frustratingly loses count. But they’re still going, the one guy now practically sprawled across her lap and the guy to her left, even began using her knee as an armrest.

 

There’s something about a paper shredder and tie and then a very vivid retelling of a threat made with a USB.

 

“No way. You’re lying.”

 

“True story! Apparently he had to go to the emergency room.”

 

Thirty minutes — It’s the longest thirty minutes of Rey’s life.

 

But then the men sit to attention. Their backs slamming against their own chairs, the very ones they had neglected to use. There’s twelve of them in total and every single one of them is now sweating and shifting in their seats.

 

The silence is bliss. 

 

“Miss Kenobi.”

 

Until it wasn’t.

 

There’s a group collective of chairs creaking, all trying to get a better look at her. But she’s only focusing on the man stood at the door, guiding his last victim back to his seat. Now only to exist in a painful purgatory of waiting to find out whether it was enough.

 

Number eight, she had named him, looks likes he’s about to vomit.

 

The red headed man watching him at the door, looks like he’s put money on it.

 

Rey swallows. Smoothing down the creases of her skirt, she rises from her seat and strides towards the door. She refuses to entertain the idea of spewing up her nerves on a floor that probably cost more than her entire apartment.

 

The redhead is now offering up the empty seat at the conference table in centre of the room. It’s like sitting in a display box. All four walls encasing her in glass, while the country’s largest growing company operates around her oblivious.

 

It was distracting and even more obvious — it was deliberate.

 

“Thank you for taking the time out today Miss Kenobi. My name is Armitage Hux, head of Human Resources at First Order Industries and today you’re going to be interviewed by myself and my senior manager, Phasma Parnassos.” He gestures while taking his seat beside her. “Who is going to follow up with some questions at the end.”

 

His partner, a platinum haired woman leans across the table that separates them. Her handshake is firmer then his and it’s with an underlining strength that causes Rey to like her immediately.

 

“Nice to meet you.”

 

“And you, Miss Kenobi.” The platinum blonde smiles back with warm admiration.

 

Maybe being used as a makeshift armrest hadn’t gone unnoticed at all.

 

“So Rey, looking at your resume, I see you have an extensive background with computers and IT, that started in your school years.”

 

Her smile is instantaneous. “Yes, that’s correct.”

 

Hux looks up from her application. The words that had caused sleepless nights for weeks, shouting from the table. There’s a subtle smile at the corner of his lips.

 

“Tell us some more about that.”

 

So Rey does.

 

By the time she was thirteen, Rey had built five computers and sold them for triple the cost. At sixteen, half the students at her school lined up at her locker to ask her about problems with their laptops, phones and sometimes even cars.

 

The money of which funded her plane ticket from London to New York.

 

Her interviewers, clearly British themselves, nod and smile with understanding. Phasma even winks at her.

 

However the questions aren’t so easy after that.

 

“Can you describe a time where you used your technical skills, in a practical way, to solve a problem?” Hux smiles warmly, sitting back in his chair.

 

Being the ninth interview today, Rey had watched enough of the other eight men before her to realise she had now reached _that_ part of her interview. It was around about this mark, that she saw each one visibly shift in their chair and tug at the collar of his shirt. She also noticed Hux and Phasma sit back and enjoy every second of the apparent bullshit they were being served.

 

They were already prepped and ready for hers.

 

“Well—” Rey swallows, going to reach for her glass of water — just like the other eight before her.

 

But then she stills.

 

“Actually yes.” The grin stretching across her face. “My second year at college, the entire network was down. The technicians couldn’t understand what went wrong until I identified the malware destroying the entire server. They didn’t believe me at first but it wasn’t until they ran a complete system scan and removed the files, I explained would be corrupt, that they started to take me more seriously.”

 

She reaches for her water now. Smiling into the glass as she takes small tentative sips to fill the surprised silence between them.

 

“Actually my reference, Maz Kanata, on the bottom of my resume, was the technician involved. She offered me my first job in her team after that.”

 

Rey smiles at the memory. Maz was the closest thing she had to a parent. She taught her everything she needed to know to get her here.

 

And it was for that reason, Rey had her saved in her phone as ‘Motherboard’.

 

Yet, despite her stumble, the questions that follow are easy in comparison. Generic, simulated issues that they ask her to explain her process in solving. Rey does so without thinking — even managing to spot the trick question that basically requires the computer to be rebooted. The classic ‘Have you tried turning it off and on again?’.

 

From watching the last eight interviews, Rey can tell she’s near the end as the mantle was now passed to Phasma.

 

“Miss Kenobi. Your knowledge on IT is incredibly impressive. Your strategies are inventive and quick thinking. However, working for a company as large as ours, sometimes the issues are not always so clear. Human fault and error can be the cause of issues you may face here day to day.”

 

There’s a telling smile on her face and the conversation across her lap now comes to the front of Rey’s mind.

 

“If someone was the cause of this, how would you address and handle the situation?”

 

Rey highly doubts the rumours are true. After all if the vice CEO really did launch a laptop at her predecessors head and what was it they said? — scold him with coffee because of a faulty projector, surely there would not be twelve hopefuls sat behind the glass, all hoping to be the successful candidate.

 

The rumours were just that. — _rumours._

 

And it’s with the sweetest smile, that Rey answers.

 

“Of course it is common to encounter individuals who are reluctant to follow your advice and guidance, especially in a very male dominated field. However it is important to remain patient and understanding.”

 

There’s a knowing glance between the two of them — so she continues.

 

“But you’ll be employing me with the primary purpose to fix your computers.” An innocent sip of water passes between her lips. “So I won’t allow anyone to prevent me from doing just that.”

 

“Oh I like her.” Hux splutters into his own drink.

 

Phasma had long given up hiding the traitorous grin across her face. “Miss Kenobi, one last question.”

 

But Hux is the one that delivers it.

 

“When can you start?”

 

* * *

 

This wasn’t how Rey imagined her first day. 

 

The tire on her bike wasn’t supposed to be flat, her breakfast and morning coffee were not supposed to be left untouched and turning stale on the kitchen counter and the overcast of grey cloud was not supposed to be darkening by the second.

 

Then she felt the first cold drop of rain against her cheek, — the very reason she practically swung from the fire escape stairwell like a mad woman.

 

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

 

Rey was not supposed to be sprinting to her new job. But here she was — shoving and shouldering her way through a grumbling Monday morning herd. Apologies were thrown over her shoulder and within five minutes of her run, the first pathetic drop of rain was now a harsh downpour lashing against her skin.

 

She was soaked through.

 

When agreeing to the job, Rey was told there would be no need for smart dress in her job role. Unlike her other colleagues, Rey could, if appropriate, wear whatever she liked. Evidently there were perks to residing in the basement amongst the servers.

 

However, she was sure Phasma hadn’t meant she could turn up, soaking wet and flooding every corridor she walked through.

 

But that was exactly how Rey started her first day.

 

Even though at six am, the building was pretty much just assistants waiting for the arrival of their superiors and maintenance staff gearing up for their demands, there were still sideway glances at her appearance.

 

She was now practically barrelling towards the elevator. Her jeans chaffing loudly with the saturation and her sodden shoes squelching with each step. But when the janitor looks you up and down and then continues to shake his head — that’s when you know you’re fucked.

 

It was mortifying.

 

She practically punches the basement button and when the elevator begins to take her the opposite way, clearly prioritising it’s programming over her desperate need to hide, Rey slumps against the wall with defeat.

 

“Fucking typical.” Her three buns now collapsed and squashed against the glossy black panelling.

 

It stops somewhere on the eighteenth floor and the cold damp has begun to seep down to her bones. Her entire body now seizing in a violent shiver.

 

But that’s no longer the issue. — No, the issue is now the six foot three stranger crowding the entire space next to her. When the doors opened on the eighteenth floor, he had barely looked up from his phone as he typed with a manic frenzy.

 

And with the way his thumbs were punching into it, Rey was amazed at how the screen continually survived the assault. But they ride the next five floors down in complete silence. Rey still remains very much unnoticed and the man next to her remains very much pissed off at his phone.

 

But then Rey begins to drip. — _loudly_.

 

The rain practically pools around her feet, flooding her shoes all over again. She’s not sure if she’s heightened with the awareness of just how loudly she is dripping or if her wet clothes are really out to betray her.

 

But then his back immediately straightens — she can actually hear the moment his jacket begins to strain under the tension. If her clothes were out to get her, his were definitely not far off. The material of his suit was barely holding on across the wide plain of his back and although it was obviously tailored to his size, each seam and stitch strains under the sudden tautness. 

 

Her elevator buddy, Rey realises, is fucking _big._

 

And her elevator buddy is no longer typing into his phone.

 

Which is the exact moment, a loud resounding slap of water from her shirt, hits the tile.

 

And just when she thought it couldn’t be any more mortifying, the entire time Rey has been staring at his back, she had failed to notice he was no longer glaring at the device in his hands — which — wow — also _big._

 

Instead, Elevator Buddy was now glaring at her.

 

And Rey? — Well Rey wants to melt into the already existing puddle on the floor, because the man whose eyes are now burning into her with a newfound hatred is annoyingly attractive. The thick black hair that had covered the side of his face, now rested perfectly at his shoulders, revealing even more features she had failed to notice. The sharp cut of his jaw, the soft cluster of moles across his skin and the strong aquiline nose that dominated his side profile. All of it — all of him was ridiculously attractive.

 

But then he did that annoying thing that Maz says all attractive men do. — He opened his mouth and ruined it.

 

“You’re wet.”

 

“Yup.” She nods, rocking on her heels. Immediately cringing at the wet sounding squelch it creates.

 

“Well can you stop?”

 

“Stop?” She repeats it like it’s a foreign word.

 

“The dripping.” Elevator Buddy elaborates, his hand gesturing up and down her with some dramatic exhibit of annoyance. “It’s distracting.”

 

“So you want me to just stop —”

 

“Flooding the elevator.” He finishes for her — and of course, just for good measure, he continues. “Do you think you can manage that?”

 

The words just don’t exist. She just stares at him for the longest time. Her mouth just opening and closing, like some sad pathetic fish and he’s completely oblivious to it. The tense silence between them, now disrupted with the return of his furious typing into his phone.

 

Floor ten — If he doesn’t open his mouth again, he might just survive long enough to make it to ground level.

 

But of course he does.

 

“Couriers aren’t allowed up here.” He’s not even looking at her this time. Not even giving her the common decency of eye contact when he insults her.

 

And whether the rain washed away her first day excitement, or her abandoned breakfast left her with a painful cramp of hunger, it’s the slight smirk into his phone that seals his fate.

 

“Are you fucking serious?”

 

The typing stops.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Rey fully holds his attention now and she’s not sure she wants it anymore. His eyes are a piercing black and she can see the anger rippling through his entire body. An energy that hums and spits around them, charging this small square of space she’s trapped herself in.

 

But leaving a good impression had fallen through her fingers ten floors ago.So Rey decides she might as well leave a lasting one. 

 

“Listen _pal.”_ Her finger jabbing into his chest. “I don’t know what your fucking problem is but just because you wear an overpriced suit and you take up ninety percent of the elevator space — that does not give you the right to be the world’s biggest dick.”

 

His knuckles are white around his phone and he’s reached a newfound height Rey didn’t think was possible. It would be menacing in any other circumstance, but once your finger jabs into someone else’s chest — you have to accept you are now fully committed in owning your shit.

 

So Rey does exactly that.

 

“Even if I was a courier, which by the way I’m not, don’t think for one second, after the morning I’ve had — that I won’t hesitate in wiping that pathetic smile off some, jumped up, overpaid, executive lapdog’s face.”

 

She’s expecting it. This loud, aggressive response. The anger practically rolls off him with a searing heat that stings her damp skin. His eye twitches just barely at the corner and his throat bobs violently with each hard swallow.He's never been spoken to like that -- and it shows. But there is no shout, no dramatic outburst. The reality is actually far more sinister. The response is barely a whisper. The depth of which is so low, Rey has a struggle to hear it, even when he has her edging closer to the wall.

 

“Do you have any idea who I am?” The threat sounds like thunder in his throat.

 

And then the doors are opening — They’re back on the ground floor and although she has only one more level to go until the basement, Rey decides she would rather take the stairs than entertain his presence for another second longer.

 

“Yes.” She answers sweetly, now standing outside of the elevator.

 

A small puddle already forms around her on the lobby floor. Her middle finger elegantly poised with one final farewell between closing doors.

 

“You’re a fucking arsehole.”

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know what you guys are thinking.. and hear me out. 
> 
> I realise this is the second fic I've written now where Rey is soaked by the rain when meeting Ben. Hand on heart, I promise this isn't some weird fictional kink I have. Pure coincidence and a perfect way to show just how much of a 100% pure-bred asshole Kylo is. -- But slight spoiler, Rey is not having ANY of it which of course is going to spin our big angry boy the fuuuu out. 
> 
> But on a real level now, I really hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter. I can't tell you just how many months I've been sitting on this concept, refusing to touch it until Break In was finished! It feels so good to finally bring it into existence. 
> 
> As usual you know where to find me -- [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) & [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com). Let me know what you think!


	2. Floor Eighteen

* * *

 

**Chapter 2**

**Floor Eighteen**

 

 

This was not how her first day was supposed to go.

 

Getting soaked by the rain, abandoning her breakfast — Hell, even starting a full on war in the elevator, were all things Rey could handle.

 

But this was where she drew the line — sat on the bathroom floor, rescuing her sodden buns with the hand dryer. 

 

This was where her victory died. To now forever decay in the blackened grout of the bathroom tile. 

 

And that was another perk of the basement — no one would see how pathetic she looked. She’s been in here, undetected like this, for twenty minutes while her hair has been dry for the last ten.

 

No one would know. She would dry her hair, find some dry coveralls and finally sit down at her desk and no one would be none the wiser. But then the bathroom door opens and there’s an awkward silence with the other woman staring at her from the doorway. She goes to open her mouth and —

 

“Don’t ask.”

Her face must say it all because the other woman nods with a sympathetic understanding.

 

“First day huh?”

 

Rey groans. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“Besides the whole —” She gestures at her and Rey can’t argue. Denial would only make it look worse. “You’re the only other woman I’ve seen use this bathroom in the three years I’ve worked here.”

 

A smile is shared between them. Whatever bag of tools she’s carrying, they’re quickly dumped at the door and she’s sliding down against the wall beside her. Their height difference couldn’t be more apparent when her feet reach just past Rey’s knees.

 

“I’m Rose Tico.” Her shoulder nudges into her. “I pretty much talk to pipes all day.”

 

“Rey Kenobi.” Their friendship sealed when she nudges back. “I get headaches from pretty much staring at computers all day.”

 

“Oh.” But then the realisation hits. “Oh! You’re the new IT guy!”

 

Rey just nods, but the excitement for Rose is already setting in and despite her smaller frame, she pulls Rey up from the bathroom floor with a concerning amount of strength. There’s a split second where both Rey’s feet leave the tile.

 

Rose’s entire body is now completely animated. The rolled up sleeves of her boiler suit are now unravelling down her arms, drowning her hands completely and she’s talking at such a rapid fire rate, Rey has a struggle to make out what she’s saying.

 

There was something about everyone assuming she was male and how unceremoniously drunk they’re going to get on the weekends. It was hard to decipher in the excitement. Not that it matters, because Rose is mainly talking to herself. But then her eyes begin to scroll her up and down and her euphoric speech is now placed on indefinite hold.

 

“You’re wet.” Unlike her predecessor, Rose sounds genuinely concerned.

 

Rey groans. The whole elevator ordeal and the annoyingly attractive asshole that shared it with her was still as fresh as ever. But Rose is already dragging her out of the bathroom and straight through the endless column of servers. Which in hindsight, probably isn’t the best idea when someone is ninety percent water.

 

“I think Finn still has some old overalls in here somewhere.” A distant echo of Rose cries out, while a work locker practically swallows her whole. “Ah-ha!”

 

Her prize now gently drapes across Rey’s outstretched arms and it’s the immediate smell of chemicals that hits her nose first.

 

Her eyes are already streaming. “It smells like —”

 

“Cleaning chemicals? Yeah.”

 

They both look down at the offending navy hazard in her arms.

 

“He was in the sanitation team.” There’s a slight smile to her face as she says it. Like Rey is holding onto some fond memory that is coming to life in her very arms.

 

But there’s also a slight sadness to it as well. Rey almost misses it, but for the briefest second, it’s there. Existing in the dark pool of her eyes. The smallest of fractures that causes just enough light behind them to escape.

 

Rey had lived a life full of what ifs. Her parents, her career — even her last date, that she unforgivingly walked out on. His fault really. Apparently he believed cheating wasn’t cheating if you wore a condom.

 

Not so much a what if. More of a _whyyyy?!_

 

But even that altered her pathway to here. To this very moment and the realisation that whoever Finn was.. He was most definitely Rose Tico's ‘What if’.

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“Promotion.” She shrugs. “He’s a pretty big deal now. Works for one of the company executives upstairs.”

 

There’s the briefest moments of silence, but then Rose seems to find herself. Pushing back both escaped tendrils of fringe, which flick around the bottom of her ears.

 

“Want me to give you the full tour?” The grin already returning back to her face. “I know the perfect place to sit and eat someone else’s lunch.”

 

Rey can’t remember the last time she laughed this hard. A genuine, struggle to breathe as the pair of them both run towards the service stairwell. Rose, she realises, is quickly becoming one of her favourite things about her new job. Whether her first morning at the company had turned to complete and utter shit, Rose had pretty much rescued it within the first five minutes of them meeting.

 

Rey may smell like chemicals and she may have cussed out some over indulged PA in the elevator half an hour ago — but it doesn’t matter.Not even when they’re waiting in front of _that_ elevator. While everyone in the lobby just stares at them, completely oblivious to why the pair of them are both howling with laughter outside it. Rose is just barely holding onto the wall, while Rey points to herself and then to the wet floor sign next to it.

 

And it isn’t until Rey explains just exactly what happened, as they ride the next few floors up, that they finally manage to catch their breath.

 

“Wait, so he told you to stop dripping?!” She swipes a rogue tear of laughter from her eye. “Just like that?”

 

“Pretty much.” Rey nods, heaving for air. “He’s lucky I didn’t wipe the floor with his suit.”

 

“Please tell me you caught his name.”

 

“I doubt he was going to shake my hand and introduce himself after I called him a ‘jumped up, overpaid, lapdog’.”

 

The silence that falls over them would be unnerving, if it wasn’t for the massive shit eating grin, Rose was now ceremoniously wearing across her face.

 

“Oh my god, you didn’t.”

 

“I did.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Seriously.”

 

The doors open at the exact same time their high five connects, and it’s what is on the other side that makes Rey’s mouth drop. There must be at least two hundred people on this one floor alone, all wearing some incredibly high end designer work attire, which only makes Rey’s bleach scented overalls more uncomfortable.The interior is a combination of slate greys and glass; The entire building radiates power and status. Rose, evidently unfazed by the whole thing, just grabs her by the arm and tugs her out. But they barely take two steps out when Phasma clocks them. 

 

“Rey!” She’s practically gliding across the room towards them. A woman of this height should not be that elegant. “I see you’ve met Miss Tico. I hope this means you’ll be joining us on Friday evening for drinks.”

 

There’s a genuine look of surprise on her face. Rey can’t hide it. After all, it isn’t exactly common for a maintenance worker to be close friends with HR’s second in command. But then she’s immediately filled with shame at the thought.

 

Because why can’t they be?

 

“Oh I hadn’t asked her that yet.” Rose replies before she can answer — the height difference really is staggering. But her bravado is unmatched. Which is immediately apparent, because she isn’t done answering for her. “But yes, she is most definitely joining us.”

 

And just like that, Rey is now apart of some top tier, all female, syndicate.

 

Who are all going out for drinks on Friday.

 

And have already initiated Rey into the fold. Despite it not even being an hour into her first day.

 

The Elevator Incident really was a distant memory at this point. Apart from the very brief retelling of it to Phasma in the staffroom, while Rose sits on the kitchen worktop, swinging her legs with the excitement of hearing it all over again.

 

“Wait, you called him what?!” Phasma chokes on her coffee with laughter.

 

“A jumped up, overpaid, executive’s lapdog.” She recites perfectly and then begins sipping coyly into her own drink. “Oh! And an arsehole!”

 

“And then she flipped him off just before the doors closed.” Rose adds, with a mouthful of someone else’s sandwich.

 

Rey probably shouldn’t be telling the senior manager of HR any of this. But Phasma seems to be very much on her side. There’s no disapproving look, no shake of the head, no mention that Rey is about to face a disciplinary hearing on her first day. She’s just sat there with the smuggest smile on her face and looking at Rey like she couldn’t be more proud.

 

“Did you get a name? Maybe we can make his life hell for a little bit.” Her eyes now full of sinister promise.

 

“No.” Rey and Rose answer simultaneously, although Rose sounds far more deflated about it.

 

“Okay, well what did he look like?” Phasma’s eyebrows are practically wagging at the conspiracy. “Perhaps we can narrow it down.”

 

“Um — big.”

 

“Right..”

 

“Uhh — he had longish black hair?”

 

“Okay..”

 

“Did I say big?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Looked like he was about to throw his phone at the wall every time it buzzed in his hand?”

 

The excitement immediately drains from their face. Phasma practically redecorates the staff kitchen with a spray of coffee and Rose’s stolen sandwich makes a wet sounding slap on the floor behind her. Neither of them speak. They just sit there, uncomprehending.

 

And the longer the silence, the more sick with dread Rey feels.But it’s Phasma that comes round first, because the bite of stolen sandwich is still hanging out of Rose’s mouth.

 

“Rey — ”

 

But she’s interrupted. Hux is stood wild eyed at the door. He’s not even processed the other two, he’s just staring at Phasma with a bizarre helpless panic.

 

“Phasma — upstairs —I think you best —”

 

“Oh God.” And she’s already half way out the door and shouting for Rose, who immediately sprints after her.

 

The whirlwind of chaos ends within seconds and then it’s just Rey, half of someone else’s lunch and Phasma’s coffee spray congealing on the table. Whatever emergency is now currently unravelling upstairs, Rey is completely oblivious to it. — or she was until she started exploring the rest of the fifteenth floor.

 

“Is it Ren again?”

 

“Who else would throw a keyboard at their personal assistant?” 

 

Whatever is happening up on the eighteenth floor, Rey is relieved to have no part of it, because the more corridors she walks through, the worse floor eighteen sounds.

 

“Apparently he launched his desk at the wall.”

 

“The glass wall?”

 

“What kind of stupid question is that? Of course it’s the glass wall.”

 

A young intern, presumably from floor eighteen, is now barrelling through the corridor in floods of tears and Rey has to practically flatten herself against it, to accommodate her breakdown.

 

The entire office is apocalyptic.

 

“Apparently he smashed his phone against the elevator wall.”

 

“Again?!”

 

Another perk of the basement. She will never have to suffer the consequences.

 

“How does he get away with it?!”

 

“How do you think? —Snoke.”

 

At this point, the whispers aren’t so quiet. The entire floor is now in open discussion. Groups congregate around computers, analysing photos of the scene upstairs. Apparently another intern, still somehow alive on floor eighteen, is documenting the entire ordeal and emailing photos of the aftermath.

 

Rey can’t make out much. But she’s pretty sure the computer keyboard isn’t supposed to be lodged in the wall like that. But she’s still walking around aimlessly, not entirely sure what to do with herself and she’s already heading back to the elevator that will take her to the basement, her finger now on the button to summon it and—

 

Of course that’s the moment Hux intercepts her.

 

“Ah Miss Kenobi, there you are! I thought I’d missed you.” He’s panting. There’s sweat crowning on his forehead and the usual slick back style of red hair is uncharacteristically untidy.

 

It’s evident where he’s just come from. His entire appearance is a dead giveaway and that familiar weight of dread begins to return somewhere deep inside her.

 

“I need you to come with me to —“

 

“Floor eighteen?”

 

With a grave nod, he answers with her own question.

 

“Floor eighteen.”

 

* * *

 

Floor eighteen, besides the obvious, isn’t that much different to fifteen.

 

Minus the pale, shaking PA who is currently being wrapped in one of those tinfoil blankets, people are given when in shock.

 

Apart from that — everything seemed pretty much normal.

 

Until she turns the next corner.The first sign being the bed of glass across the floor. Then her attention falls to the room inside. The computer is shrapnel. Black glass and circuitboards completely cover the entire space.

 

It’s the largest office Rey has seen so far and whoever was privileged enough to own it, had made sure every square inch had been destroyed. The desk, somewhere out in the hallway, is turned upside down. The accompanying chair, which looks way comfier then her own sofa, is now somehow balancing precariously on top of the bookcase inside the office.

 

_Impressive._

 

The perpetrator is nowhere to be seen. Neither are Rose and Phasma — and Hux is somewhere outside. Most likely offering counselling to anyone who needs it. So Rey just sifts through the carnage. The very obvious reason why she was summoned here in the first place becoming increasingly apparent, when she holds up two separate pieces of the same laptop, that she got from two different corners of the room.

 

“Miss Kenobi, I feel like I must apologise. I know this must seem like a lot to take in on your first day and —”

 

“What happened?” The question is deadpan, but the curiosity is there.

 

Hux just grimaces. His hands gesturing around the room as evidence for his following answer.

 

“The Vice CEO happened. Apparently someone upset him on his way to morning briefing.”

 

Okay. So the two gaggling idiots on her lap were right. The Vice CEO, Rey realises, is an egotistical asshole and she’s starting to think the company is full of them. Elevator Buddy probably works for him.

 

And by the time she gets back to her desk in the basement, her arms are burning with the weight load and her language has now become too colourful for the poor innocent interns to overhear.

 

And it’s an hour into her laptop surgery when the phone rings.

 

“ _Hi, is this Rey in IT?_ ”

 

She doesn’t recognise the voice.

 

“It sure is.” She manages to grit out between the small screwdriver she’s holding between her teeth.

 

“ _Excellent. I’m ringing on behalf of the Vice CEO. Mr Ren would like to know when it is ready_.”

 

Oh — The Vice CEO has a name. Not that it matters, because Rey has chosen one far more appropriate.

 

“Ready?”

 

“ _The laptop._ ”

 

Rey practically spits the screwdriver across the room. He can’t be serious. She’s just stammering into the receiver and the disbelief must not reach him on the other end. The poor man is now obliviously signing his death warrant, when he continues to speak.

 

“ _The main computer is of no importance. The company have already replaced it. But Mr Ren has given strict instructions for his personal laptop to be repaired. Shall I tell him that you’ll have it ready by the end of the day?_ ”

 

In hindsight, her next choice of words are probably not the most professional.

 

“You can tell Mr Ren, I’m not a miracle worker and if he wants his laptop in full working order by the end of the day, he probably shouldn’t have dashed it against the wall, when he decided to be a self entitled, disrespectful, tosser!”

 

The point well and truly made, when she slams the phone back down — ending the call before he can even reply.

 

And then another thirty minutes pass — Rey well underway with the repairs, when the phone rings again. So she turns her back on it, scooting the wheels of her chair to the other work table behind her. Leaving it to ring countless times in the hope that Mr Ren will take the fucking hint.

 

But within ten minutes, her patience is wearing thin so she gives in to the irritant and she’s just about to shout at the poor man again and —

 

“ _Oh my god, Rey. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for ages_!” Phasma sounds practically feral. “ _Where the hell have you been?!_ ”

 

“My office?”

 

Phasma curses so loudly through their call that Rey has to pull the phone back several inches.

 

“ _Rey, this morning — about what you said in the staffroom._ ”

 

The memory of the elevator incident immediately causes her to snort with laughter. Her chair now spinning with the merriment of remembering.

 

“You mean when I called that asshole in the elevator a—”

 

“Jumped up, overpaid, Executive’s lapdog.” A sudden voice interrupts from behind her.

 

 _That_ voice..

 

_Oh._

_Fuck._

 

And somewhere in the distance, Phasma is still talking, oblivious to the stand off now happening in the basement.

 

“ _Rey, that was the Vice CEO.”_

 

Which is the exact moment her chair stops moving. Along with the concept of time. She just stares at him — her mouth opening and closing helplessly. She had been completely oblivious to his presence and how could she be? The anger that spits off him is volatile, unstable — the entire room is now thrumming with a dangerous intensity. And whatever Phasma is now saying to her, doesn’t matter. Because he’s leaning over her desk, still yet to break eye contact and his finger, with an uncharacteristic calm, presses the button to end her call. 

 

Leaving only him.

 

Just her and Elevator Buddy.

 

Who she flipped off this morning.

 

O _h god._ The same man she also called a —

 

“Or would you prefer self entitled, disrespectful tosser?”

 

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where to begin. The response to this has been INSANE. I never expected so many people to comment, kudos and tweet after only one chapter. I still don't feel like I deserve it -- not yet anyway. 
> 
> I also feel like I should apologise for not having much of Rey and Kylo in this chapter, but I really, really wanted to build up this amazing relationship between Phasma, Rose and Rey! I absolutely adore fics that bypass the canon trio and build something powerful and most importantly female! Which I feel is important right now when you see female led fandoms currently being attacked online. Cough captain marvel Cough. 
> 
> If I have to build a feminist trench in my fic then so be it! 
> 
> But back to the soppy stuff -- Thank you for the most amazing response. I always assumed this fic was formed on some half fleshed out idea. I never believed it would make you guys laugh and tweet about it. So I must now learn how to deal with the newfound panic of not disappointing you with the next chapter. 
> 
> in the mean time, come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) and [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com). I'm annoying but I'm great with gifs.


	3. 12.37pm

* * *

 

**Chapter 3**

**12.37pm**

 

 

 She’s expecting it.

 

The letter of dismissal on her desk when she comes in the next day. It wouldn’t surprise her. Notafter yesterday. But it’s not there. Just the laptop she had been working on before the whole —

 

 _Oh god_.

 

She remembers it now. Even when she doesn’t want to. The way he just stood there and repeated every insult she spat at him.

 

The Vice CEO — Who she called a tosser.

 

_Oh fucking god._

 

She was sure he was going to fire her on the spot — but he didn’t.

 

In fact he didn’t say anything after. He just picked up the apple she had been saving on her desk, and then proceeded to claim an entire side of it for himself. But the real insult was when he immediately put it back. Just so he could deprive her.

 

And in that moment, as he walked away, Rey battled the serpent on her shoulder who was telling her to lob it at the back of his head.

 

But the apple is still there. Exactly where he left it. The exposed core now a revolting brown.

 

Yet, still no envelope.

 

So Rey actually begins to look for it. Because of course there is no way in hell he hasn’t fired her for not just one, but _two_ incidents of misconduct. A singular offence is bad enough, but Rey was now a repeat offender. There was no coming back from it — whether it was worth standing up to him or not. He was most likely orchestrating the perfect way to make her life completely and utterly devoid in living.

 

Yes, that must be exactly what he’s doing, because after fifteen minutes of frantic searching, there’s no letter to be found.

 

Somehow, Rey still had her job.

 

Which is incredibly suspicious when you call the Vice CEO, of one of the largest companies in the country, a fucking asshole and then proceed to flip him off.

 

“Whatever you said to him yesterday —” Rose yawns into the heel of her hand. Finally traipsing in to begin her shift. “Mus’have been one hell of an apology.”

 

“I didn’t apologise to him.”

 

“What.”

 

She’s awake now. Five simple words that have left her alert, wide eyed and wearing the same expression from the staffroom yesterday morning. The only difference this time is that there isn’t half a sandwich hanging out of her mouth.

 

“Not that I was planning to or anything, but he didn’t give me the chance.” Rey shrugs. “He left.”

 

“And you still have a job-?"

 

Rey looks around the room, because maybe the hundredth search will finally prove fruitful — but still no envelope.

 

“I think so?”

 

“Holy shit.” She’s still staring at her — like she’s some mystical creature. And then she pokes her just to make sure she isn’t. “How are you still alive?”

 

“Will you — stop —” Rey grunts, batting her off as she continues to prod her “— poking me!” 

 

The intensity is broken somewhat when they both laugh. Rose sits herself across the desk, her feet resting on Rey’s office chair. But she still has that look on her face — the one regarding Rey as some kind of heroine.

 

“I can’t believe you called him an asshole.”

 

 _Oh_. Rey wishes she had only called him an asshole.

 

“Actually…”She winces, turning to gauge her reaction; Rose’s eyebrows are now probably somewhere up on the next floor. “I might have also called him a self entitled, disrespectful tosser.”

 

There’s a loud pop when her mouth opens.

 

“Let me get this right.” Rose processes the information slowly. The tainted apple now tossing between both her hands. “You called Kylo Ren — the guy who fired someone for calling him by his first name — an overpaid lapdog?”

 

“Correct.”

 

Rey shouldn’t be smiling. This is serious.

 

“And an asshole?”

 

“Yup.”

 

No, really — she shouldn’t be smiling. This is categorically, one hundred percent, not even remotely funny.

 

“And then proceeded to call him a self entitled, disrespectful tosser? — On your first day?” 

 

Okay, when she puts it like that…

 

“In my defence — technically — I said it down the phone to his assistant.” 

 

Rose immediately deflates with relief.

 

“Well at least he didn’t hear that,” she laughs, biting into the apple, completely oblivious to the monstrous hole on the other side.

 

Rey decides it’s best not tell her about the apple, or that he did in fact, very much, hear it. After all, today is a new day. Rey will steer clear of floor eighteen and she will most likely never have to interact with Kylo Asshole Ren ever again. The whole ordeal will be a distant memory and some other poor soul will be in his line of fire instead.

 

The thought is comforting.

 

Until Rose ruins it.

 

“Oh I almost forgot — Phasma asked if you could attend today’s meeting.” Her mouth full of apple — still oblivious.

 

“Okay, what time?”

 

Her face says it all. She doesn’t need to answer her; Rey can see it. The minute her eyes fall to the clock on the wall. Her entire body stiffening when she puts two and two together.

 

“Rose... What time?” She presses, her voice taking on something more urgent — and more desperate.

 

Rose must feel the pain of her answer before she speaks it into existence. The gravity of Rey’s situation causes her face to contort with a guilt infused sympathy.

 

And her voice croaks out the three worst words Rey will ever hear:

 

“Five minutes ago.”

* * *

 

  _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

 

There’s no time to apologise to the assistant she sends barreling to the floor. Even the time it takes for her hand to thrash frantically against the call button for the elevator is spread too thin to spare.

 

Ten minutes — she should have been there ten minutes ago and it’s about halfway up the stairwell that Rey regrets her decision.

 

Rey by no means is unfit. But for someone who frequents the gym more than most, by the time she climbs her way to the eighteenth floor, Rey is pretty certain her legs will never forgive her.

 

But her depleted muscles are not the problem.

 

Neither is being late to her first meeting.

 

The person who is now staring at her with an unrivalled hatred — now that is very much the problem. Staring because of her rather graceless entrance into the boardroom no doubt. While sat right at the head of the table, posturing his position of power in an all black suit that probably costs more than her entire existence.

 

A problem that shouldn’t exist because what the actual fuck was he doing here?

 

Rose had assured her that he wouldn’t be. Her assurance went so far as to say that he had never attended a single department meeting, the belief being that it was beneath him. Which evidently must be true by the way her colleagues are now perspiring around him.

 

At least seven out of ten of them are visibly sweating. Rey silently wills number seven to stop, because she knows from personal experience the Vice CEO’s stance on dripping.

 

“Miss Kenobi, you’re late.”It’s a simple statement, but with the dark depth of his voice, it actually sounds like a threat.

 

And god does the man push every one of her buttons. She can feel the insult burning every bud on her tongue. The fear of being fired this morning is no longer important, because she remembers why she came dangerously close to it in the first place.

 

Kylo Ren is Satan in a suit.

 

“I can’t imagine anything about your job being more important than this?”

 

And that’s it; the accelerant she needs.

 

“My apologies Mr Ren.” The sarcasm is rich and thickens by the syllable. “Unfortunately, cleaning up a tantrum takes time.”

 

Silence.

 

A void now opens up in the centre of the room, the tension now a corporeal mass that causes the entire room to hum with a fatal hostility. Her pulse is now a deafening war-drum in her ears. But she can still hear the barely audible “oh shit” from the man to her left.

 

Yes Sir— _Oh shit._

 

Rey had almost forgotten there were ten other people in the room with them. All ten now witnessing the demise of her career and the gradual unravelling of his very limited professionalism. His pupils have devoured his eyes entirely and the muscles in his throat convulse with the bitter swallow of her insult. And Rey watches it all from her seat that she’s pulled up from the opposite end of the table, her smile sweet and honeyed with innocence while the hazel of her eyes implore him the opposite.

 

A simple dare: _Fight me_.

 

And if she loses her job?

 

Fuck it. His failing restraint will be a picture that will validate her decision for the rest of her life. The man is a category A asshat, who has probably had a letter of dismissal drafted already on his desk.

 

But once again, no response. Her bait now dangling before him, untouched — wasted.

 

He’s deprived her again. So the meeting continues; someone on the left side of the table is somehow managing to revive the flow. Other voices begin to feel brave enough to contribute.

 

Number seven has actually stopped sweating.

 

Initially, there’s a feeling of relief that washes over Rey; she was certain that he was going to fire her in front of an audience. After all, Kylo had a flair for the dramatics and he had the perfect stage for such a grand show.

 

But the relief is short-lived because even more irritatingly, Rey feels a rising frustration. A slowly creeping build up that bites and nips at her better judgement. He was supposed to bite. Everything about his body language indicated as much.

 

So what mental gymnastics did Kylo Man Child Ren perform to reach this uncharacteristic level of calm?”

 

“Miss Kenobi?”

 

Oh fuck. She should have been listening.

 

“Hmm?”

 

Yep. That sounds convincing.

 

“Would that be okay with you?”

 

Huh. She didn’t even realise Hux was in the meeting. She really should have been paying more attention, because she doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s asking of her.

 

She could ask him to repeat himself. She _could_ , but at the other end of the table, Kylo is now smirking at her. A smile so smug that Rey wants to crawl down the open alleyway of table that separates them and club him to death with the water jug.

 

But that might be pushing it. So she doesn’t.

 

She decides on the more passive route — lying.

 

“Um.. yeah, sure?”

 

“Excellent!”

 

Oh god, what has she agreed to? Hux is now alight with excitement. There’s an undeniable amount of relief coursing through him, but he’s not elaborating on it like Rey so desperately hoped he would. She only needs just the slightest indication. Something — _anything_ — to clear the fog surrounding their agreement. But he doesn’t. The meeting continues on and for all Rey knows, she could have just agreed to sell her organs on the company stock market.

 

It’s a good thing she didn’t use the water jug as a murder weapon, as Rey now wants to drown herself with it.

 

Because he's still staring at her.

 

There’s no self righteous smile, no deep hatred that existed in his eyes just ten minutes ago. He just simply watches her and Rey doesn’t notice it until she looks up from her notepad — Which, she now realises, is there for a reason.

 

But the way he’s looking at her, eyes ablaze with some kind of curious fascination. It’s unsettling. The meeting is still churning on. Some laborious report of statistics and figures. Probably the most vital part he needs to pay attention to.

 

But he’s not.

 

He’s just looking at her. And it’s almost as if…There! Right there, Rey sees it; the betrayal of amusement in his eyes. The very subtle shift of light behind them that tells her everything she needs to know — the reason why he hasn’t fired her yet.

 

Because the bastard doesn’t know if he’s enjoying himself or not. He’s still processing whether he is impressed by her ability to get under his skin or livid with himself for allowing her the privilege. From the other end of the table, Kylo was outright challenging her, just so he could find out which one it was. The rivalry was undeniable. As if Rey is now some sport to be hunted. But she refuses him the trophy. Instead she stares straight back, her pen now subconsciously carving into the paper of her notepad.

 

Which is the moment where the both of them come to a unified agreement.

 

A secret that neither of them knew they now shared;

 

In that moment they were both, undoubtedly, planning how to make the other’s life absolute _hell_.

 

* * *

 

One hour is all it takes. The entire building in one hour.

 

“She basically called him a toddler.”

 

Of course floor eighteen is the worst.

 

“No way, in front of the whole room?”

 

Sixty minutes and Rey has reached an unprecedented level of fame.

 

“Oh my god, she smiled at me.”

 

Yep. Rey was now considered a deified Goddess. Which was — okay — unexpected, but came with a cost. One still currently unpaid.

 

The laptop.

 

Which is still in two halves on her desk. The laptop that she should be fixing right now — but isn’t.

 

Because she’s now staring at the distraught PA, and then to his porn diseased computer, the monitor now a labyrinth of windows and websites that all depict variations of —

 

 _Wow_. She didn’t even realise you could put it in _that_ hole.

 

“I know what it must look like,” he gulps, still yet unsure if he has the balls to look her in the eyes. Which is ironic because there’s about five sets of them on the monitor behind him. “I swear it was just a—”

 

“Virus?” she finishes. But it’s still not enough for him; his eyes are pleading with her. “Don’t worry, I know you’re not a pervert — you just clicked on a dodgy link that’s all. But you need to be more careful in the future.”

 

One antivirus scan and a system reset later and the porn minefield is clear. The poor man looks like he’s about to cry with relief.

 

“It’s Rey, right?”

 

She nods, her face breaking out into a genuine smile. He hasn’t heard the rumours — or he has and he doesn’t care for them. Rey likes him immediately.

 

“I’m Finn.”

 

 _Oh_. He was Rose’s what-if. The Big Deal from sanitation, who is now slowly backing away from her with fear because?

 

“Miss Kenobi.”

 

_Him._

 

He’s behind her. Close — almost too close. She can smell the earthy tones of his cologne, his body heat kissing her cold exterior. Indifferent or not, Kylo now invades every part of her.

 

She hates it.

 

She hates _him._

 

“My office.” The two words feel like a whip across her back.

 

Within a day, his entire office is spotless. The aftermath from yesterday was like it never existed. All ready and waiting for his next man sized strop. Everything about his space puts her on edge. When he closes the door behind her, despite having a brand new glass wall and a whole floor of potential witnesses, she can’t help but feel like she’s volunteered herself up for slaughter.

 

But Rey is no lamb, so she doesn’t back down when he starts to close the distance between them.

 

In fact, she does the opposite.

 

The sole survivor of his personal territory. Her shoulders squared and her jaw ground with a perilous pressure. The challenge was searing hot in the hazel of her eyes. The height difference would not hinder her; she would still climb him like a fucking tree and wipe that sadistic smirk right off his face.

 

But there’s now an audience forming at the glass. The pair quickly becoming an exhibit to the whole of floor eighteen. Someone at the front, actually gives her a thumbs up, all of them oblivious to what was about to happen. The reason why she was called in, because obviously he was going to —

 

“I’m not going to fire you.”

 

Um, what?

 

“I accept your apology.”

 

And there it is.

 

“On account of inexperience.”

 

Is he for real? Is he really that deluded or —

 

Nope. She should leave it. Walk away right now. Just walk out the door, still very much employed and sign the intern’s stapler that he’s holding up, outside, with a sharpie.

 

That’s what she should do.

 

But she doesn’t.

 

“Are you fucking serious? You are such a cu—”

 

“You have freckles.”

 

He says it so distantly, like he’s not talking to at her all. The darkest notes of his voice are now composed with a hallowed wonder. And were his eyes always such a rich brown? With a fascination so present and profound behind them, that Rey’s usual quick fire rebuttal collapses in the thick of her throat.

 

Because he’s still so close. Barely inches apart, head ducked low enough to study every small detail of her face as if he’s seeing a clear night sky for the first time. Every freckle and insecurity blemished on her skin now existing as its own asterism.

 

A discovery that now belongs to him.

 

And out of all the situations she had found herself in, this was the one that was most dangerous. But then he seemed to remember himself. The intensity between them is a gravity that manages to just pull him back far enough to recover. He’s already behind his desk and she still hasn’t moved from where he left her. She isn’t even sure her legs are working.

 

“That will be all Miss Kenobi.”

 

That’s it. That’s the freedom she needs. Her escape from his office is instantaneous and it isn’t until the elevator doors close behind her that Rey finally collapses against the wall.

 

What the actual _fuck_ just happened?

 

The elevator ride to the basement is quickly becoming her groundhog day. Nineteen floors of replaying every second of whatever the fuck that was.

 

She hates him. Of course she does. That’s the reason her lungs feel like they’re about to collapse in on themselves every time she tries to breathe. She’s just going to ignore the other symptoms of her encounter entirely.

 

Trembling hands? That’s a lie. 

 

Anxiety fuelled nausea? Dodgy coffee.

 

 _Obviously_. Because the whole encounter barely lasted two minutes.

 

Two minutes that Rey is now deleting from her memory. It never happened. She’s going to go back to her desk and stare at the monitors until her head splits with a headache. 

 

The thought of her inevitable death is comforting.

 

Until she reaches the basement. 

 

“A congratulation present.” Phasma smiles from her seat on Rey’s desk. Her manicured fingers are curled around a large coffee, while the other holds out a monstrous sized chocolate muffin.“For surviving your first day and becoming the building’s Beyoncé”

 

Rey practically inhales the thing.

 

“And — it’s also a thank you.”

 

She stops mid chew.

 

“I know it’s only your first week, but I really appreciate you agreeing to this.”

 

Swallowing a muffin shouldn’t be this painful.

 

“Public speaking is never easy.”

 

Her muffin slaps against the floor. Chocolate chunks explode around their feet. Oh god. Is she suggesting —

 

“You’re going to deliver the best company training yet!”

 

And there it is.

 

Time of death — 12.37pm.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um.. first question — How the hell did this blow up?! I genuinely have no words at this point. The response to chapter 2 was so far past what I was expecting. Are you sure guys commented on the right fic? 
> 
> This is was always just meant to be some funny, light hearted mess that brought me some distraction in my crazy little life. I didn’t think it would actually be funny! I’m also sorry this chapter probably wasn’t as funny as the previous two, but some development had to be done! Forgive me. 
> 
> Also to everyone who made me moodboards and fic covers — thank you so much! I’ve never had that before and it honest to god made me ugly cry in public. Every single one is on my twitter, so please go and show them some love! 
> 
> Thank you to @Semperfidani for basically blowing up my entire world on twitter. You shouted me from the rooftops everyday and I will never be able to explain just how much I love you for that. 
> 
> To @TeaFriend, my big writing sister — interacting with you these last few days has been so nice and I can’t thank you enough for fixing this hot mess of a chapter. I ducklab love you x 
> 
> And if you wanna see an even bigger mess.. Come say hello on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) and [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com). 
> 
> I still haven’t calmed down with the gifs. (Sorry)


	4. L Is For Loser

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**L Is For Loser**

 

 

Rey never made it to bed.

 

She isn’t exactly sure where she is at first. There’s always a hazy few seconds when you first stir from sleep. Your eyes still yet to open. All of your life mistakes to come flooding back at once.

 

Your hand glued to a half eaten pizza?

 

_Urgh._

 

She fell asleep at her desk — _again_.

 

Which would explain the jarring knot at the back of her neck and the fact her entire palm now smells like tomato sauce. Kylo’s laptop that she had been working on all night, was now a crude pillow, that she obviously in her exhaustion, had decided to face plant.

 

Yep. This was her rock bottom.

 

Or it was until she lifts her head and sees herself in the mirror across her apartment. It’s not the oily mat of her hair or the thick grease of pizza around her lips, that causes her to regret her life choices. It’s not even the dried pepperoni slice slotted perfectly between her cleavage.

 

Nope. It’s the, loose keyboard letter stuck to the middle of her forehead.

 

Which is — wait — is that..

 

Yep. Of course.

 

The letter L.

 

She doesn’t even have the energy for denial. Her forehead speaks for itself — _loser._

 

Who, for the last four days, has spent every waking hour, trying to fix the same fucking laptop. She’s barely racked up eight hours of sleep between them. Resorting to taking the stupid thing home so she can rid herself of it quicker — rid herself of _him_ quicker.

 

After she stepped into his office and he — _well_.

 

The freckles on her face haven’t looked the same since.

 

She hides them in her hands. Groaning against the gate of her fingers, which is a mistake because she’s pretty sure her breath is radioactive now.

 

 _Oh god_. Her mouth actually feels like it’s grown fur.

 

Her toothbrush is probably screaming against her teeth when she finally pushes herself to the bathroom. She wants to brush until her gums bleed. Anything to mask the fact, that she just ate a slice of musty pepperoni, that has done hard time in between her boobs.

 

Which, scarily enough, still tasted the same when it was fresh.

 

_Urgh._

 

Not that it mattered — not _today_.

 

It’s not even six am and her phone is already blowing up. Her, now de-fuzzed teeth set on edge every time she hears the vibrating piece of shit on the countertop.

 

**Rose**   
****

_Omg are you nervous?_

 

**Phas**

_Don’t forget to dress like the badass you are!_

 

**Rose**

_I’m totally nervous_

 

**Phas**

_I’m thinking pencil skirt and heels sharp enough to slit throats. What do you think?_

 

**Rose**

_Like I actually want to be sick for u_

 

Oh and she’s used a gif as well. How creative.

 

She should go back to sleep. It doesn’t matter where. She would face plant the pizza again if she could. Are people supposed to dread Fridays at work? She feels like she’s doing it wrong. Rey can’t even pretend it’s a normal day.

 

Because it’s not.

 

**Phas**

_I’m bringing you coffee!_

 

Okay, maybe it isn’t so bad?

 

**Rose**

_I think your mortal enemy is coming to watch you lolololol kill him_

 

And there it is. The unforgiving realisation — slotted perfectly between an abundant amount of skull emojis. That Rey agreed to lead the Internet Safeguard training — _today._ And Kylo Knobhead Ren is going to be there to witness the public execution of her dignity.

 

He’s probably set up a tripod to film it.

 

Not that she cares. Because after surviving her pizza induced coma and abandoning her world concert in the shower, Rey somehow managed to pull herself together enough, to look — well — _nice._

 

 _S_ everal heads actually turn to watch her entrance into work. Every loud clack of her stiletto heel repeatedly announcing her arrival to the building’s lobby. Because Rey may have woken up high fiving a pizza, with a computer key stuck to her forehead, but when everyone starts eying you from head to toe; you best believe, you are now officially, _that_ bitch.

 

Which the elevator mirrors remind her of, all the way down to the basement. The entire ride is blissfully unshared. So she uses the free space to check her teeth for lipstick and the back of her skirt for any betraying underwear lines.

 

But the result is the same — she is still, very much, _that_ bitch.

 

So it didn’t matter whether she had to soak her pizza scented hands in perfume, or cover the dark circles under her eyes, with concealer that has the consistency of frosting. 

 

And the whole, keyboard loser, baptism thing never happened because — yeah it’s probably best to pretend that never happened _._

 

She’s got this. Rey has this completely under control.

 

Nothing can go wrong.

 

Absolutely _nothing._

 

* * *

 

Well fuck. 

 

That’s a lot of chairs. Which — okay — are empty. But in about twenty minutes, Rey is probably going to projectile vomit over the first ten occupied rows.

 

Hopefully the interns hand out waterproof ponchos.

 

But there is a small relief in her maelstrom of shit; the training slideshow is already waiting for her on the centre table. All she has to do is open the laptop, turn the projector on and —

 

 _Oh_. There’s a post-it note stuck to the lid.

 

 _Good luck_.

 

Her gut doesn’t like the full stop at the end.

 

Whatever. It can’t get any worse. _Right?_

 

And approximately ten minutes later, apparently yes — _yes_ it fucking can.

 

The room isn’t even half full yet and Rey feels like she’s about to lay an egg with the shock. Because there is already _a lot_ of people, who she has to stand up in front of, for _two_ fucking hours.

 

She can’t do this — even if it is just reading from the powerpoint. There is no way in hell she can get up in front of these people and string two sentences together.

 

Maybe nobody would notice if she threw herself from the window.

 

 _No._ That can’t be an option. Phasma and Rose promised to pay for all of her drinks tonight. The promise of vodka is going to get her through this. She can’t drink her body weight in alcohol if she has to be scraped up from the street.

 

Her only two life lines are now sitting themselves dead center, in the middle row. A deliberate seating arrangement in an effort to will her on. Rose gives a thumbs up and mouths something familiar to “you look amazing!” and Phasma starts using her notepad as a banner.

 

With the use of a black sharpie, Rey couldn’t miss it.

 

_You’ve got this! Just think of the vodka!_

 

Okay. She can do this.

 

And then the vodka will make her forget it, because the next two hours could be the worst of her life, but it doesn’t matter. Because eight hours from now, Rey is going to pickle her liver into oblivion and soak her brain with so much alcohol, she won’t ever remember it.

 

Five minutes left.

 

_Oh god._

 

How the fuck did it fill up even more in just five minutes? The entire room is practically bursting with bodies. From maintenance to executives, no matter the designation; everyone has the same look on their face — like they’re about to witness something amazing.

 

Which is odd, because it’s the same training from last year.

 

And the year before.

 

_Huh. Weird._

 

Actually, when she really begins to look, they’re all smiling. Some are even talking about her. She can’t hear it, but they’re not exactly subtle. The entire room is buzzing with a displaced excitement. Which — again — _odd_.

 

But then it stops. Just as quick as it began.

 

She’s hunched over the projector, her back to the audience, when it does. She doesn’t need to turn around to know why. She can hear every obnoxious step he takes. The chair he sits in releases a loud whine with the weight — because _big._

 

But it sounds close. Way too close. There’s no way he would —

 

Oh for fucks sake. He’s in the front row.

 

_Manspreading._

 

She shouldn’t have turned round. She should have just thrown herself through the window instead, because the way Kylo is looking at her — _fuck._ The pavement probably feels more comfortable than this. He’s swigging from his coffee so nonchalantly but his eyes are the traitor. Blown black and giving all too much away.

 

It starts at her heels.

 

He lingers slightly longer on her legs.

 

Then his head cocks to the side when he finally reaches her eyes.

 

He should be grateful she allowed him past her ankles, because she wants to launch the projector at his head. But she doesn’t — there must be a fault in her code because he’s still alive and still smirking into his coffee.

 

And she’s not entirely sure why, until she opens up the powerpoint.

 

Her face falls. Within seconds, panic spikes throughout her body. It isn’t the presentation she was expecting and thank god she hadn’t turned the projector on yet.

 

Because there’s only one slide and five words.

 

_You’re going to need it._

 

Now the post-it note makes sense. That fucking —

 

“Miss Kenobi, is there a problem?”

 

 _Oh_. There’s about to be. The laptop is dangerously close to splicing his skull. He plays the innocent, yet concerned, bystander so well. But she can see the amusement ignite behind his eyes, drawing the pleasure out of every agonising second.

 

The sadistic fuck was trying to even the score.

 

“No _Sir.”_ The last word is weighted with sarcasm. “Everything is fine.”

 

It’s a lie. She’s plotting his death as she speaks.

 

“Are you sure?” He’s struggling to keep a straight face. “Do you need assistance?”

 

Rey wants to say yes. Because lugging his dead body is not a one woman job. She’s sure half the room would volunteer and Phasma’s makeshift sign, lifting up several rows behind, only proves her point. 

 

_Kill Him_

↓↓↓

 

He’s oblivious to it. He’s too busy watching his plan unfurl before him. This must be the part where she’s supposed to panic or even better — humiliate herself. Clearly he had orchestrated it to be that way.

 

She had to admire his creativity. After all, how pathetic would it look if the IT technician can’t even navigate a simple powerpoint? Kylo clearly wants her to ask _him_ for help. Evidently nothing would bring him greater pleasure, because he’s not done.

 

“Are you having technical issues?”

 

She wants to murder him — right here, in front of hundreds of witnesses.

 

“You can’t continue without the laptop.”

 

But she settles for public humiliation. It’s far less messy.

 

“Oh yeah?” She snaps the laptop shut. “Watch me.”

 

And Kylo’s face is a picture.

 

“Today we’re going to be doing something a little bit different.” She announces to the whole room. Her voice projects with an impressive confidence, she never believed possible. “I am sure you are all aware on the importance, of safe practice on the internet.”

 

Except Finn. He was baited by hard porn, but they don’t need to know that.

 

“Although online scams, such as email phishing and website forgery, are important to identify. It is also important to recognise risks within the workplace itself.”

 

There truly is no turning back now. Her job really is hanging on by a thread at this point. So fuck it. Kylo only brought this on himself. He should have let her drip in peace.

 

“A prime example would be coworkers deciding to use computers as a form of anger management.” 

 

The entire room now belongs to her. She can see Rose rolling across some poor guy’s lap with silent laughter and Phasma is holding up a sign that says _‘Best training EVER_ ’. God it’s so hard to keep a straight face.

 

Nobody else is — they’re all grinning at her.

 

Except one.

 

“So how do you protect yourselves from coworkers who snap laptops like they’re glow-sticks?” She stops right in front of him, positioning herself right between the arrogant breach of his legs and snatches the coffee from his fingers. With the height of her heels, he actually has to arch his neck to look at her.

 

And the glare he’s giving her — it’s murderous.

 

He _really_ isn’t going to like the next bit.

 

“You call them out on their shit.” Innocent sips of his drink pass through her lips. “Isn’t that right, Mr Ren?”

 

_Check._

 

And within seconds, the entire room is a free-for-all.

 

_Mate._

 

* * *

 

The sounds coming from his office are — well — _hilarious._

 

But the view through the glass wall? Now that is the real show.

 

The computer explodes into fragments of plastic and wires, on the other side of the room. God he’s so predictable. He’s actually ripped the legs off his desk. The chair, now above his head, which he is about to — _oh god_ — is he actually going to launch it at the —

 

 _Oh_. It bounces off the window. 

 

And Rey is now choking with a dangerous combination of laughter and crap coffee. She should film this, but she doesn’t want to miss a second of it. 

 

Wait. He’s still not done because now he’s — yep. He’s punched through all three artworks on the wall.

 

This is hands down the _best_ day of her life.

 

The glass wall is categorically her favourite feature of the entire building. Because Rey now has the fifteen foot long, transparent, privilege of watching the aftermath of her victory.

 

How he had managed to sit through an additional two hours of her training, without so much as making a sound, is beyond her. She had now evened the score on the apple front and simultaneously educated the entire room, on safe internet practice.

 

He never stood a chance and — _no way_. He’s snapped the keyboard in half.

 

 _Fuck,_ he really is a sore loser.

 

And Rey has learned that she is, by no means, a gracious winner. Because he clocks her through the window. Her presence barbing him, drawing him closer to the glass and whatever he was about to do to the plant pot doesn’t matter. It’s just them and the heat of his breath, blooming and dissipating, against the glass that separates them. 

 

She almost forgets it’s there. In fact, she’s surprised he’s not reduced it to the consistency of sand. 

 

Especially now she’s stood so close to it — _to him_.

 

And she can really see it now — every small tense and twitch of muscle across his face. A dark threat bleeding into the fractures of rich brown. While every hard swallow struggles to pass the tight knot of his tie.

 

His plan had, really and truly, back fired. But she’s not done; he’s still got one more spoonful of his own medicine to swallow.

 

So she presses the post-it note to the glass.

 

He’s so fixated on the small yellow square; he doesn’t even register that she’s walked away.

 

Just two simple words — bold, capitalised and undeniable. 

 

_I win._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press F to pay respects for Kylo's office. 
> 
> Also apologies for the shorter and slightly crappy chapter. I'm not 100% happy with this one. But I needed to get it out into the world. Let me know what you think, I love seeing all your feedback! 
> 
> Come say hello on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) and [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com).


	5. The Hangover

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**The Hangover**

 

 

“Hello 911? Yeah, I’d like to report a murder.”

 

Oh for the love of god.

 

“Yeah just the brutal murder of my boss.”

 

And — wait she’s still not done. Rose is now fake crying into her phone, which is still on the lock screen.

 

“He choked on his own medicine”

 

“Nasty way to go.”

 

Oh okay, apparently Phasma is taking part in this role play too.

 

It’s impressive. Watching the pair of them try and hilariously fail to remain in character. Rey would believe it was real, if their eyes weren’t thick with tears of laughter and their words liquored and slurring with each syllable.Because when Phasma promised vodka on their first night out, what she _really_ meant was vodka, whiskey, tequila and two large bottles of wine— oh and the three large cocktails somewhere in between. 

 

Actually… Was it even in that order? Was it the whiskey or the tequila that came first? _Shit_ no wait — wasn’t there schnapps too?

 

 _Fuck_. Her brain is pickled already.

 

“Did you see his face?”

 

Oh they’re still going.

 

“Did you see _my_ face?!”

 

“I thought he was about to give birth to a hernia.”

 

And Phasma is now spraying the entire bar with her alcoholic back swallow — _wow_ that’s gross.

 

“Is Rey the daddy?”

 

Okay. She can’t judge because she just spat hers out too.

 

Which is probably for the best; she’s fucked enough as it is and apparently, according to Rose, she’ll have to start paying child support. 

“Oh my god, who gets custody?”

 

Yep okay. Maybe she’s going to need that drink.

 

So she gets one — and then one more. They knock back so easy. Her throat doesn’t burn like it did five drinks ago and she’s actually beginning to enjoy the sickly sweet aftertaste.

 

Celebrating is fun. She should piss her boss off more often.

 

“A toast!” Phasma announces, her drink sloshing everywhere when she holds it up. “To the Building Beyoncé”

 

Rose burps, her glass chinking against Phasma’s. “Long may she reign.”

 

And fuck it — she’ll drink to that. Rey had survived her first week, even when she hard boiled, that pathetic egg of a vice CEO, within five minutes of her first day.

 

And then there was the whole revelation incident in her office.

 

And then there was the — _fuck._

 

She’s so fired.

 

Actually how has she _not_ been fired?! The man had demolished his entire office because of her — _twice!_ Oh god. She’s now having an existential crisis in the middle of the bar. Rose and Phasma are completely oblivious; they’re too busy shouting Beyoncé lyrics at poor innocent men around them.

 

She’s fucked it — her first week and she’s fucked it. All because of some corporate douchebag. But she’s not panicking. She should be, but she’s not. Maybe it’s because of the copious amount of alcohol that is now marinating her brain, or the bottle of wine she might as well connect to an IV.

 

Or maybe it’s because Rose and Phasma are now reenacting the whole coffee scene from her training seminar, earlier today. The pair of them really commit to their respective characters. Rose’s face scrunches in a telling scowl, while Phasma snatches the drink from her hands and cleans it with one impressive swallow.

 

“Hey! You’re not supposed to actually finish it!”

 

“I’ll get you another.” She laughs into the glass before picking up Rey’s empty one and shaking it in front of her, as she gets up. “Same again?” 

 

And that was the moment where Rey didn’t care what might come Monday. Because even though Kylo could, quite easily, take her job away from her; no matter how hard he tried, he could never take away _this._

 

 _This_ was the real victory.

 

 _This_ moment belonged to her.

 

And no matter how drunk she was going to get tonight, Rey was absolutely, one hundred percent certain, she will never forget _this._ Because once you humiliate your brat of a boss, in front of all of his employees, why the fuck would you want to?

 

“Oh my god, Phasma is dancing on the bar.”

 

And that brings her back to the room. Did she just say — _fuck_ Phasma is dancing on the bar.

 

Maybe it’s the alcohol that fuels her next decision or perhaps it’s the — _whatever,_ the culprit isn’t important. Rey is already up there alongside her and shouting for Rose to form some bizarre intoxicated Destiny’s Child.

 

Five seconds is all it takes for Rose to accept the invitation. Five seconds and all three of them now dominate the top of the bar.

 

There is no fucking way this will be allowed. After all, Phasma is practically gyrating into some poor man’s drink, Rose is showering herselfwith the soda hose, and Rey is using the entire bar top as her own personal catwalk.

 

They’re going to get kicked out — any minute now.

 

“Hey you!”

 

Here we go.

 

“These shots are on me.”

 

Okay hold the fuck up.

 

Why is the barman pouring six shots between the open V of her legs?

 

Actually why is she even questioning it? It’s Friday, Rey has a whole weekend ahead of her and she still has a job to come back to on Monday — _somehow_. So of course all three of them down every throat burning drop.

 

And that’s when things start to get _messy._

 

“I just made out with the barman.”

 

Okay. Messy _might_ be an understatement.

 

It’s been thirty minutes since all three of them went full Coyote Ugly on the bar. Rey can’t even remember when they decided to move to the dance floor. She can’t even remember the exact moment, Phasma decided to play a game of tonsil tennis, with the bar staff either.

 

She only left her for two minutes.

 

“Do you even know his name?”

 

“Cas — um Cassette Tape or something.”

 

Rose’s drink is now spraying out of her mouth and all over the back of some poor man’s head. Which is absolutely hilarious when your body is ninety percent alcohol.

 

“Cassian.” She’s actually hunched over with laughter. “His name badge said Cassian.”

 

Whatever his name is, the man looks completely destroyed. He’s stood behind the bar with the most confounded, yet sated, expression. His hair is disheveled beyond belief and his entire mouth is caked with Phasma’s red lipstick. Cassian looks more like a budget clown than a barman right now. The man is utterly wrecked. Which _obviously_ is another victory they need to celebrate.

 

And Rey can’t even taste the shots anymore; her saliva is pure vodka at this point. But that doesn’t stop Phasma buying the next round.

 

Or the round after that.

 

Hiccups break her giggles. Her skin is neon pink. The club lights that cause it, look so pretty above her — _so pretty._ Her head feels so featherlight; everyone looks so _blurry_. There’s two of everything; people pulse and shift around her. She’s dancing — she _thinks._ Her feet are moving but they don’t feel like they’re on solid ground. The feeling is euphoric. Rey never wants it to end.

 

Nothing can ruin this. Absolutely n—

 

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

 

She’s never heard seven words that can sober her so quickly. But before she can even process that sentence, Phasma has already slammed her phone into Rey’s palm and bolted somewhere close to the toilets.

 

“She’ll be fine.” Rose shouts over the bass drop. “She once vomited for two hours straight and then downed a bottle of wine straight after.”

 

Her face must say it all, because Rose elaborates.

 

“She caught her Ex balls deep in his secretary.”

 

Oh okay. Understandable. 

 

“Yeah all four inches.”

 

There’s probably alcohol in her lungs, from how hard she’s choking. _Fuck._ She loves these girls and that’s the great thing about alcohol — you love _everything._

 

Until Phasma’s phone vibrates in her hand.

 

**Overpaid Lapdog**

_My office. 7am. Monday._

 

Okay. Everything _except_ him.

 

She shouldn’t pry; it’s not her phone. But honestly what was Phasma expecting? You don’t put one, two, three, four, five — _five_ angry emojis next to a person’s name if you want it to go unnoticed. Besides, that text message reads like a death sentence. Who even uses that many full stops?

 

What a fucking _psychopath_.

 

She should ignore it. She had tormented Kylo enough today. But she swipes at it anyway, because she knows there is no fucking way it will—

 

Fuck, it unlocked.

 

Phasma doesn’t have a passcode. Her entire virtual world is unprotected and Rey can access it all. What the fuck, did she even listen to her training today?!

 

But then the realisation hits her harder then the vodka ever did.

 

Phasma has Kylo’s number.

 

If she was sober right now, she would stop herself — but she’s far from it. She’s about eight drinks past making sensible choices. For example, pressing the call button and drunk dialling your boss.

 

That probably isn’t a good decision.

 

But fuck is it a fun one.

 

* * *

 

This is not a hangover.

 

This is death.

 

The good news is Rey somehow made it to bed last night. The bad news is, she was five minutes away from drowning in her own drool. _Urgh,_ it actually smells like vodka and bad decisions and she doesn’t even want to describe the taste in her mouth right now.

 

And then she lifts her head off the pillow. The pain is indescribable. She must have undergone a lobotomy somewhere in the night. Which makes her start to wonder if that is, in fact, drool on her pillow— _or_ — it’s the pickled remains of her brain, that is now oozing out of her head.

 

And then she starts to remember.

 

The shots, the cocktails, the bottle — no, _bottles_ of wine.

 

Which explains the fermented drool and the fact she was face down, on top of her bedsheets, still wearing last night’s outfit. _Urgh,_ her sequin camisole smells like self loathing and sweat. But she doesn’t truly learn the concept of regret, until she props herself up on her elbows. Her vanity mirror reveals it all — the false eyelash stuck between her eyebrows, it’s counterpart sitting comfortably on her top lip, while her earring is knotted in the fisherman’s net of her hair.

 

But none of it offers up the answer she desperately needs.

 

Because what the _actual_ fuck happened last night?

 

It isn’t a complete blur. It’s more of a jigsaw, that annoyingly is missing the middle piece. She remembers the continuous factory line of drinks, the entire dance routine on the bar, Phasma swallowing the barman’s face.

 

And then something about four inches and vomiting. Whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean.

 

But she still feels like she’s missing a crucial detail. So when you experience alcohol induced amnesia, you resort to the only clear window you have — _your phone_.

 

**Rose**

_I think I just flushed my liver down the toilet._

 

**Phas**

_I slept with the barman._

 

**Rose**

_Best night EVER!!_

 

**Phas**

_Hypothetically.. How would you get a one night stand out of your apartment?_

 

**Rose**

_But seriously.. Does my insurance cover this?_

 

Maybe drowning in her ocean of pillow saliva, wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. The phone is just an endless thread of messages from Rose and Phasma. Her thumb is actually beginning to ache with the continuous scrolling.

 

Until one message in particular, catches her eye.

 

An anomaly.

 

**Unknown**

_My office. Monday._

 

Why do the words feel familiar?

 

Obviously the number isn’t. It’s not saved as a contact in her phone. 

 

But really — two fullstops? What a _psychopath._

 

She’s not exactly sure why she’s experiencing some vague, distant, deja vu right now. Rey is certain she didn’t interact with anyone other than Rose and Phasma last night. Surely she wouldn’t forget exchanging numbers with some poor husk of a man, that thinks a nightclub is an open banquet.

 

Rey knows she hasn’t. She wasn’t _that_ far gone.

 

So obviously it was the wrong number. But that doesn’t stop her feeling sorry for the intended victim. Because whoever they were, they were completely oblivious to the world of shit, they’re going to experience on Monday.

 

But thankfully it won’t be her.

 

So she tosses her phone back on the bed and somehow manages to push herself towards the bathroom. Toothpaste doesn’t feel like enough; she probably should be using bleach. But no matter how hard she hides the evidence of last night, the hangover is strengthening by the second. So she crawls back to her liquor scented sheets, and immediately undoes all of her hard work.

 

That entire Saturday is a combination of groaning and half assed naps.

 

And by the time she makes it to Sunday, Rey is pretty certain her body is half decomposed. But self pity only gets you so far. So her entire Sunday evening is spent at her desk with something far worse than a hangover.

 

The _fucking_ laptop.

 

No longer in two pieces, but still the biggest pain in her ass. She’s close — she _knows_ she is. But why the fuck won’t it turn on?! In the last two hours, she’s taken it apart _three_ times and checked every circuitboard, every screw, every tiny insignificant detail.

 

She wants to throw it at the wall — _again._

 

But of course she doesn’t. She just stares at it for thirty minutes, hoping the solution will magically present itself. Her brain is still sludge but despite that, she still can’t understand why it isn’t working. She’s done everything, checked it over ten times at least, maybe if she —

 

 _No_.

 

Surely not.

 

Had she really been that thick?

 

She grabs her charger. Thankfully it shares the same port as her own.

 

And the answer is yes.

 

 _Yes_ she really is that thick. Because it’s now responding, the home screen is already loading up. There’s no password, which _wow —_ did _anyone_ listen to her training? But the annoyance is short lived, because victory is already setting in.

 

She’s done it. She’s actually done it and now she can give it back to that industrial sized asshole. She’s already fist pumping the air, whooping and jeering to her audience — the potted plants.

 

But then she stops; her fist still half finished in the air.

 

The user ID is what catches her attention. She blinks several times just to make sure it is real. But it’s still there — unchanged and very, very real _._

 

The lie. Clear as day.

 

His name.

 

His _real_ name. 

 

* * *

 

The second Monday is far different to her first. 

 

The first difference being her bike. The tire is no longer flat and _god_ how she had missed riding through the city. The second is that she isn’t drowning in acid rain. This time she actually smells like her perfume and not fermented sewage.

 

But the final and most satisfying difference of all?

 

An empty elevator.

 

The ride to the basement is bittersweet — a treasured moment. Rey wants to utilise her extra space.

 

But it’s an elevator. Not a double bed.

 

So star-fishing the floor is definitely out of the question.

 

It’s funny though. She’s stood in the same elevator countless times since that first day. It was rare to have it to herself, but when she did, she never noticed just how much fucking room, that colossal twat took up. They had only shared that small square of space _once._

 

But you don’t forget sharing an elevator, with a fucking mountain of a man, that makes you want to swing a rucksack on your back and go climbing.

 

Or you thought you did until he opens his mouth and ruins it.

 

Yet it’s still hard to believe it’s been a whole week. Seven _whole_ days since the Elevator Buddy incident and if that ordeal wasn’t bad enough, she just _had_ to spend all nine of her lives, cussing him out every day since.

 

She really should keep her head down now. Contributing her ‘ _opinions_ ’ was too dangerous. It’s a miracle she’s still breathing, let alone still employed. She’s going to have to set herself some rules, because she is determined to keep her job and never see his annoyingly carved out jawline ever again.

 

So this is going to be the First Day she never had. There’s already euphoria, excitement and— 

 

A cup of coffee on her desk?

 

 _Huh_. Phasma usually texts her when she brings her coffee. It’s impossible to miss though. Rey spots the Starbucks logo from the doorway. But it isn’t until she walks over to the offering, that she notices the black scrawl on the side.

 

Three words.

 

_For the hangover._

 

And the whole thing is odd.

 

Because usually, when Phasma brings her coffee and leaves a note, she usually puts a kiss on the end of it. But then again it is Monday and all three of them had spent the weekend on death row. So she’s not going to read too much into it.

 

And Rose’s entrance into the basement only proves her point. She’s actually clinging onto the doorframe when she walks in.

 

“I vomited into a woman’s handbag on the subway.”

 

She has no words for that.

 

“It’s okay though, she let me keep it.”

 

And still  — no words.

 

Until she starts holding it up, like some bizarre trophy which is — hang on— is that...

 

“What the fuck Rose, is that Chanel?!”

 

“No I’m pretty sure it was champagne.” She sniffs the bag for good measure. “Yep champagne.”

 

_Fucking hell._

 

“Rose. We went out Friday night!”

 

“Yep.” Her smile is so sweet for someone who just projectile vomited their stomach contents into a designer bag. Clearly she’s reminiscing, which is annoying, seeing as Rey can’t remember the last ten percent of that night.

 

“It’s Monday. How are you still hungover and where did you get the champagne?!”

 

“Okay in my defence.” Rose counter balances, a single finger now stretched out to drive home her point. “Hair of the dog is fucking bullshit.”

 

 _Oh god_. She’s started whirling the bag of sick around.

 

“And don’t you remember?”

 

No she doesn’t. Maybe she could try, if Rose stopped swinging the bag, stuffed full with her stomach lining, around her personal space. _Fuck,_ it really does smell like champagne.

 

“Phasma’s one night stand gave us a bottle each.”

 

Oh yeah, she remembers him, but not the champagne. Which is annoying, because Rey would much prefer it to be the other way round.

 

“You downed yours just before we left. But I saved mine, because it’s free therapy that I now need, after watching Phasma dry hump a barman, for two hours.”

 

Okay that explains the corrupted space in her memory, which obviously had nothing to do with drinking the entire drinks menu. She’s going to blame the champagne instead.

 

Yeah, it was all the champagne’s fault.

 

It had nothing to do with making bad life choices.

 

Nothing at all.

 

“Who were you on the phone with anyway?”Rey’s brow creases with a small confused V. So Rose tries to simplify the question for her.“You know, on Friday night? On the dance floor?”

 

Nope. She still doesn’t have a fucking clue. Must have been post champagne.

 

“Oh my god, you don’t remember do you?”

 

“Don’t you dare judge me.” Rey jokingly threatens with a stern point of her finger. “You’re swinging your sick around in a designer handbag.”

 

Rose’s mouth immediately pops open. She’s just stares at it uncomprehending and also forgetting what is disgustingly swimming around inside.

 

“This is designer?!” Her face is priceless. “I barfed in a—”

 

“Handbag worth more than my apartment?” Rey finishes, smirking into her surprise coffee. “Yeah. You kinda did.”

 

Her voice is barely a whisper. “That is iconic.”

 

That’s definitely not the adjective Rey would use.

 

“Anyway what were you saying before—” Rey gestures to the spoiled Chanel. “You know.”

 

“Oh shit yeah.” The bag is immediately an afterthought. Rey’s stomach turns at the wet, heavy clap it makes against the floor. But Rose is already sat in her usual position on her desk, her feet resting on the seat of her chair and her eyebrows wagging in a way, that makes Rey feel incredibly uneasy. “The phone call, on the dance floor.”

 

“Yep. The phone call.”

 

That Rey can’t remember.

 

Because she was a drunk mess, who apparently cleaned a bottle of champagne by herself.

 

“I mean it was hilarious.” She snorts in Rey’s coffee that she’s now claimed for herself. “I’m not sure who you were talking to, but they probably cried themselves to sleep after you hung up.”

 

That doesn’t exactly clear anything up for her. She needs _more._

 

“So I’m guessing that means you didn’t catch a name?”

 

Rose’s grin is so wide behind her stolen coffee, Rey wouldn’t be surprised if she split the cardboard cup.

 

“Oh I caught several names.”

 

_Oh no._

 

“My favourite one was cu—”

 

The phone interrupts her.

 

_Thank fuck._

 

 _“_ Hello, Rey in IT speaking.”

 

And Rose is already off the desk and blowing her kisses, halfway out the door. She’s still holding onto the stolen coffee, but at least she’s taken the putrid handbag with her.

 

“ _Good morning Miss Kenobi, I’m ringing on behalf of Mr Ren.”_

 

Oh for fucks sake. Does the man do anything for himself?!

 

“ _Mr Ren believes a week is sufficient time for the repairs of his laptop and—”_

 

“Mr Ren also believed he could humiliate me in front of the whole building. How did that work out for him?”

 

 _Fuck._ She said that out loud. There’s a prolonged silence. The static crackles through the phone and she’s immediately kicking herself.

 

Her fresh start lasted ten minutes.

 

Ten _fucking_ minutes _._

 

But then again, it could be worse. Rey could have said the same things, she apparently said, down the phone on Friday night. But only an idiot drunk dials their boss.

 

And she’s definitely not an idiot.

 

So fuck it.

 

“ _Is the laptop fixed?”_

 

Wow he sounds really impatient and .. slightly scared? His voice is trembling, which is odd, because it wasn’t a minute ago.

 

“Yes it is!” She sings with triumphant pride. “Actually, I was going to email to ask when you could—”

 

“ _Excellent. You can bring it with you, on your way to your meeting with Mr Ren_.”

 

Surely she didn’t hear that right. There’s no way he said what she thought he said.

 

“Um, my what?”

 

There’s no way in hell he said—

 

“ _Your meeting with Mr Ren_.”

 

Okay.

 

He said it; he said the thing.

 

“ _In ten minutes.”_

 

Fuck.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t see her. 

 

His back is facing the glass wall. He’s too busy glaring out onto the street below, hands buried into his pockets, which only makes his trousers tighter around his —

 

Nope.

 

_No._

 

She will absolutely, _categorically_ , not go down that path.

 

Even if she likes the look of his —

 

Okay, she needs to knock.

 

“Come in.” He doesn’t turn around.

 

Rey enters as stealthily as she can. She’s already halfway into the room, planning how to leave the laptop on the desk, without him noticing. Maybe she could—

 

“Miss Kenobi.” He still hasn’t turned around. “You’re late.”

 

_Bollocks._

 

“How did you know it was me?” Her voice sounds so pathetic — so hoarse. What the fuck has gotten into her?

 

“Your perfume.” Kylo’s voice is just as thick and gravelled, when he finally turns to look at her. “You were wearing it that day in the elevator.”

 

And that wasn’t what Rey was expecting. Her mouth just opens and closes for several seconds, trying to process a suitable answer. She wasn’t expecting him to remember the scent of her perfume, especially as it was faint and struggling to survive on the damp of her skin. She wasn’t actually expecting him to be — _well_ — not an immediate _asshole_ either _._

 

And the silence between them now is excruciating.

 

“I see you managed to finally do your job.” He gestures to the laptop she’s hugging to her chest.

 

Okay she’s wrong; the silence was better.

 

“I see you managed to last an hour without being an emotional bitch.” She gestures to the glass wall — still very much intact and not embedded into the plush carpet.

 

She should give him a sticker.

 

“Oh there’s still time.” He covers the distance between them in seconds, gifting her only an inch of space between them. “Just give me a reason Miss Kenobi.”

 

 _Fuck_. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to stand so close, when she’s calling him out on his shit. But she’s never heard his voice sound so _deep_ before. The thundering baritone actually causes her head to spin with an unexplainable deprivation. But Rey can still see his pupils bleed into every fissure and knot of brown. That same fascination is already forming behind them.

 

Because he’s staring at her freckles — _again._

 

Fuck he’s so _intense._

 

“I assume you summoned me here for a r _eason_.” She manages to grit out, in an impressive recovery. The anger that simmers off of her is lethal. All the man did was look at her stupid freckles, but even he somehow manages to make that enough to piss her off.

 

It might also be because he’s smiling at her.

 

Yeah that might be why she’s frothing at the mouth.

 

“You don’t remember do you?” He chuckles darkly, chewing into his lip.

 

Which she desperately needs him to stop doing because —

 

_No._

 

She _hates_ him.

 

That’s why.

 

“Remember what?” Rey spits out, pushing herself onto her toes, just to prove she can take him on.

 

“Tell me something Miss Kenobi.” Kylo’s head dips lower to accommodate her. “Do you usually make a habit of drinking more than you can handle?”

 

 _Oh_ no.

 

Oh dear _fucking_ god no.

 

She didn’t.

 

“Or do you always ring your boss, at one o’clock on a Saturday morning, just to call him a condescending cunt?”

 

_Shit._

 

She did.

 

And the only sound she can make in response is a pathetic ‘ _meep’._

 

That was the jigsaw piece she was searching for and that was the reason she woke up, hanging out of her arse, trying to work out that bizarre text. The coffee on her desk this morning, was now suddenly, making _a lot_ more sense. The note, which of course, ended with that stupid _fucking_ full stop, were all dots she had failed to connect. 

 

The gravity of her situation was getting more real by the second.

 

She had called the Vice CEO, of the country’s largest company, in the middle of the night, just to tell him he was a—

 

_Oh fucking hell._

 

Rose and Phasma are going to have a fit when they find out.

 

 _If_ they find out.

 

It all depends on what Kylo does with her dead body.

 

“So consider this a warning Miss Kenobi.”

 

Shit.

 

This is it; the last of her nine lives. She’s going to be forced to parade down every floor of the building, while he rings a bell and chants “ _shame_ ” from behind. Because this is the inevitable moment where Kylo fires her. That sadistic fuck has probably been planning it since last Monday. Maybe she could just —

 

 _Wait_.. was he standing this close before?

 

And when did he take the laptop off of her?

 

“Because if you hang up on me again..” Kylo whispers with an uncharacteristic calm. “I will not stop until I find out what run down, squalor of a bar you’re in, just so I can personally sober you up myself.” 

 

_Oh._

 

It sounds like a threat when he says it, but it’s not. Rey knows it’s not, because he’s pinning an escaped tendril of her hair, behind the shell of her ear, when he says it. The urge to stop him isn’t there; she doesn’t even recoil.Her entire body shivers, when his thumb grazes against the flushed heat of her cheekbone. His eyes, black and starved, follow every red flare and swirl of heat against the exposed part of her neck. Rey is now alight with sensation and the entire time she’s been burning up in front of him, Kylo seems only fixated on her lips.

 

She hates him.

 

That’s what this is.

 

_Obviously._

 

“Do I make myself clear Miss Kenobi?” He murmurs somewhere low and dark in his throat.

 

She can only nod. How the fuck is she supposed to speak, when she can hardly breathe? They’re barely an inch apart and the giant fucker is claiming all the thinning oxygen for himself.

 

“That will be all.”

 

And Kylo doesn’t need to tell her twice because she’s already at the door and—

 

“Oh and Miss Kenobi?”

 

Of course it wouldn't be that easy. 

 

Why does she feel like she’s about to break out in hives, every time he says that? 

 

“Yes?” She tenses.

 

This is going to be bad.

 

“I’ll have a coffee. Black with two sugars.”

 

Oh he should have just let her walk out the door.But that fucking moron behind the desk, is already relaxing into his victory. That smug fuck was completely oblivious, to the fuel he’s just poured over her fire. 

 

He’d played his hand too early.

 

“Sure thing…”

 

And now Rey was playing hers.

 

“ _Ben_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon Appetite. 
> 
> After taking a massive three day - or was it four? - hiatus from writing (hefty I know), I was really scared about uploading what I wrote in that time! Which is also why I was such a massive piece of shit and didn't reply to any comments in the last chapter! Please forgive me for that because I promise I'll try to be in a better head space next time! 
> 
> Also.. I can't make any promises on frequent updates going forward. Currently, I'm working three jobs, while simultaneously juggling my studies at the same time, and if that isn't enough, I'm also in the process of moving house! So the only time I get to write is when I'm at the gym and my brain is melting out of my skin.. Which kind of explains this hot mess. 
> 
> But hey, it beats a hangover right? 
> 
> Also [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) and [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com) for when you want to ask me what the hell this was.


	6. Enemies With Benefits

* * *

 

**Chapter 6**

**Enemies With Benefits**

 

 

The buttons on his shirt are the first thing Rey notices.

 

Strained, barely holding on and looking like their about to ping across the room, and hit her square between the eyes. It’s not like Rey doesn’t know the man is big, because she does. Rey _knows_ he is very, very _big._ But with the way his shirt is now stretching, it genuinely looks it was tailored to fit a child.

 

Which is ironic because his temper _is_ tailored for a child.

 

But the first observation is quickly forgotten when she notices the second.

 

In any other circumstance, Rey would think he was shivering. But this isn’t any other circumstance; he isn’t trembling at the dropping temperature, or because his buttons are so parted, cold air is rushing through the exposed slits that expose his chest.

 

She wishes it was.

 

“What — the — fuck — did you just call me?”

 

Because Kylo looks and sounds _unhinged._

 

And despite all the tantrums and destructive episodes she has witnessed; Rey has never seen him look quite like _this._

 

She should run.

 

“Is there a problem..”

 

Now would be the time.

 

“Ben?”

 

But apparently she has a death wish.

 

Because she’s still repeating that single syllable — a trigger that she can’t stop pulling. She should have left the room immediately after the first time, but within a minute, Rey has developed a habit for it, that she just can’t kick.

 

Despite the fact he’s no longer relaxed and smug behind his desk; with nostrils flared and the grit of his teeth, that cause a sharp whistle to pierce the silence between them. Kylo was now snaring her at the door, she still hadn’t opened.

 

Not because she’s intimidated by him.

 

“Call me that again and—”

 

But because she _owns_ him.

 

“You’ll what? Fire me?” She sneers, brow arched in challenge, and squaring right up to him like she did only minutes before. “Go on then.”

 

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even draw back when she pushes herself right up into his face. Personal space really was a concept that didn’t exist. She really was pushing every single one of his buttons — poking and prodding at him to deliver his threat.

 

But she already knows the answer; it’s written all over his face. Underneath all of that searing heat and unstable anger.

 

He doesn’t have the fucking balls to do it.

 

But Rey does.

 

“Yeah I didn’t think so.” Her voice now a whisper and her lips barely an inch apart from his.

 

She can feel every drag of breath, every heave of his chest, that rises and falls with such a deprivation, she’s almost expecting it to crash into her own. His eye twitches just barely at the corner and his Adam’s apple rolls continuously up and down his throat.

 

And yet — _silence._

 

But Rey is done playing with her food. So with one final push onto the pointe of her toes, she reminds him just why, he should have fired her the moment she opened her mouth in the elevator. 

 

“So make your own goddamn coffee…”

 

Because she just can’t help herself.

 

“ _Ben._ ”

 

And her dramatic exit out of his office would look amazing if it was in slow motion. But it’s not; this is real life, so it didn’t matter just how badass she was in that moment. It didn’t matter about how stupefied he looked, when she shoved past him, as if he was shit on her shoe.

 

Because now? — Now he can’t see her in the elevator, losing her fucking mind, when the realisation hits her.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

The doors close, trapping her with eighteen floors or pure, unadulterated, panic to survive.

 

“Oh my _god_.”

 

She needs to vomit.

 

“ _Oh my god_.”

 

Preferably into a Chanel bag.

 

“ _Ohmygod_.”

 

But the back right corner of the elevator is going to have to do because—

 

“I just told the Vice CEO to fire me.” She sounds traumatised, her voice trembling with the aftershock of her confession.

 

And just to add to the trauma, she repeats it —again and again and again. She’s talking to herself; it must be the shock. There is nothing badass about this. There is nothing victorious about pacing, side to side, in the elevator like some closed in, pent up, zoo animal.

 

“I just told — the Vice CEO — to fire me.”

 

Repeating it for the five hundredth time can’t make it any worse.

 

“And did he?”

 

Okay. Maybe it can.

 

The voice behind her is one Rey doesn’t recognise. She should turn around and check who it belongs to, but she can’t. She doesn’t want to admit the shame, that she’s just been ranting to herself, completely unaware of the poor soul, trapped in the back left corner of the elevator. But it’s been ten seconds since he spoke.

 

So she should probably just — _yeah that’s it_ ; turn around with such a reluctant, painful slowness, that the soles of her shoes actually begin to squeak against the floor.

 

Fuck.

 

_Squeak._

 

She’s still turning.

 

_Squeak._

 

It’s a slow process.

 

_Squeak._

 

And then she’s looking at him.

 

_Squeak._

 

And he’s looking at her.

 

_Silence._

 

And it’s agony, until he takes a large, obnoxious, bite of an apple that crunches so loudly, Rey actually flinches.

 

“Hi.”

 

Fuck, he chews so loud.

 

“Hi.” Rey cringes.

 

How the hell does she keep ending up in awkward situations that involve apples?!

 

“So—” He bites into it again, causing another crunch that rips through the heavy silence. “Rough morning?” 

 

And Rey just blinks. She wasn’t expecting small talk. _Hell_ — she wasn’t even expecting him to act this nonchalant, about the fact she’s been climbing the walls of the elevator, like some demonic lunatic.

 

She also wasn’t expecting him to be that offensively good looking either.

 

Another designer suit — obviously exec. Hair short, styled, but just tussled enough for her to _know_ he wakes up looking that fucking put together. God, people like that make her sick, which is another reason why she needs a Chanel bag right now. He has that classic Hollywood jawline, that every girl would swoon for, and his slight smirk sinks into every bite of apple he takes.

 

And she has another — _fuck_ — fifteen floors of it to survive.

 

“So what did he do?” Rey must look thick; she can feel her eyebrows doing the _thing,_ so he simplifies it for her. “The Vice CEO—” There’s another crunch of apple and the words sound muffled with the large bite of fruit pocketed in his cheeks. “What did he do to piss you off?”

 

Rey doesn’t even hesitate with the answer.

 

“He breathes.”

 

And her new Elevator friend is nodding as if she’s never said anything more true. He doesn’t even ask her to elaborate; he knows why. Everyone in this company fucking knows why.

 

Because Kylo? Ben? — whatever the fuck his name is, — is the human equivalent of period cramps.

 

There’s another loud munch of apple and oh _good god,_ there’s juice running from his lips down to his fingers.

 

It’s like she’s trapped in a badly made porno.

 

“So you’re the new recruit in IT?”

 

Yep. She’s seen one that starts exactly like this.

 

And for someone who just cussed out their boss, with their own birth name, Rey can only manage a pathetic mewl, which is followed by an even more pathetic nod. Jesus Christ, there are jellyfish out there, that have more of a spine right now. Because Rey had truly spent up every last drop of her, no nonsense, bad bitch, attitude. She’s a husk of the woman that just obliterated her noob of a boss in his own office, ten minutes ago.

 

She’s pathetic, she’s a mess, she’s —

 

“ _Huh —_ I thought you were a man.”

 

She’s about to rip his own spine out and whip him with it.

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” And she can’t be a hundred percent certain, but she’s pretty sure she growled when she said that.

 

“Woah, woah, woah.” His hands, apple included, come up in immediate defence. “Easy tiger.”

 

It does nothing to soothe her; her hackles are still raised.

 

“You’re Ray right?” His hands and his stupid fruit are still up, which is ridiculous because she’s an IT technician, not a fucking raptor.

 

“Yeah…”

 

It’s weird that he knows that. But then again is it? She’s not exactly kept a low profile, but she’s still not sure where he’s going with this.

 

“Ray with an A?”

 

 _Oh._ Now she does and she realises she has overreacted _big time._ Fuck, this Building Beyoncé thing is really going to her head.

 

 _“_ Oh my god.” Rey winces for what feels like the millionth time. “It’s Rey with an E.” The urge to just fold in on herself, is getting stronger by the second. Especially now she realises he’s backed himself right up against the wall, as far away from her as possible. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s got into me recently.”

 

That’s a lie. She know’s exactly who has managed to get inside her head like this.

 

“You don’t have anything to apologise for. I’m the one who just called you a man.” He groans into his free hand, while the other is still clasped around the apple that’s browning with the neglect. “If anyone should be apologising, it should be me.”

 

And Rey smiles. Despite the initial — _yeah;_ Rey finds herself liking the guy. He’s harmless, which is surprising for an Exec. The guy clearly has an unprecedented amount of confidence, which _isn’t_ surprising for an Exec, but somehow there’s still enough human left in him to be able to apologise.

 

“I’m Poe.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he says it and his hand is immediately stretched out in the space between them, waiting for her. “With an E.”

 

And his handshake is soft for a superior, but the smile he gives her is far softer. That is until the elevator stops and the doors open on the twelfth floor.

 

Because he isn’t smiling anymore.

 

“Dameron.” The lilac haired woman deadpans as she steps in, completely oblivious to Rey, who is now several steps behind them, as they stand shoulder to shoulder.

 

“Amilyn.” He nods, but the hiss of her name through the grind of his teeth is what betrays him.

 

“ _What the fuck.”_ Rey can’t help but contribute silently behind them.

 

Because the animosity between the two of them is something so physical, so beyond anything Rey has ever witnessed, all she can do is hold her breath and hope the two of them don’t realise, she’s still very much here, and the only witness of the slaughter that is about to happen. She can actually taste the metallic tang of bad blood between them.

 

And the next two floors down are spent in agonising silence.

 

But even that kindness is taken away from her.

 

“So how was the meeting?” Poe smirks and the sarcasm is so thick in his throat, she can hear the moment his lips curl into a devilled smile. And from her position behind them, Rey can see every muscle in this lilac haired, goddess’ back lock at every pin and joint in her spine.

 

This is bad.

 

“You know exactly how it was, you fucking bastard.” She growls; the woman _actually_ growls and she hasn’t even looked at him yet.

 

This is very, very, bad.

 

These two know each other. These two have history _._ These two _hate_ each other.

 

And Rey doesn’t know where her loyalty lies, because technically it should be with her new elevator friend Poe. But this new contender, with the glossiest pastel curls Rey has ever seen, is so fucking unapologetic, Rey can’t help but root for her too.

 

“You know…” Poe crunches into his apple, clearly enjoying every second he shaves of his lifespan. “You really shouldn’t swear in the workplace.”

 

“Get fucked.”

 

This is it. This is where he dies.

 

She can’t breathe, her vision is whiting out and she’s starting to feel faint, but she cannot risk taking a single breathe, because it’s about to kick off _big time_.

 

Any second n—

 

“Is that an insult?” Poe challenges back, turning to square up to her. “Or a promise?”

 

Wait what…

 

“Why you fucking—”

 

Oh god, she’s right in his face.

__

“Arrogant…”

 

What the fuck is happening?

 

“Hyped up…”

 

Who are these fucking people?!

 

“Backstabbing…”

 

Should she call the police?!

 

“Cheap cologne wearing…”

 

There’s _actual_ froth pooling at the corners of his mouth.

 

“—Slug.” She finishes through the unforgiving grind of her teeth and the sound is like chisel to stone; the final commandment now spoken into existence.

 

_Never fuck with a woman in six inch heels._

 

And then the elevator stops. The doors open on the lobby floor, but neither of them move. Poe and Amilyn both stand there, swallowing each other’s hot breath and staring at one another with such a nuclear hatred, Rey is sure the metal inlay of the elevator is going to peel off the walls at any moment. She can’t work out if she’s scared or aroused; all Rey knows is she needs _out_ , so she decides to do something stupid.

 

She opens her mouth.

 

“Uh guys?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Um, hi, hello?”

 

They don’t even blink.

 

“You know this is your floor right? Like you both need to step out so I can—”

 

“You’re a fucking bitch Amilyn.”

 

Rey’s mouth immediately clamps shut. She doesn’t get paid nowhere near enough to deal with this shit.

 

“Haven’t they told you yet, Dameron?” His apple now belongs to her — this lilac haired badass, who delivers the best ‘Fuck You’ Rey will ever hear. “I’m your fucking boss.”

 

And her victorious revelation of her promotion, now coats her nude lipstick with the juice of her win. But she’s already out of the elevator. Her designer heels, that cost more than Rey’s salary, now striking the gloss marble tile of the lobby floor.

 

Poe isn’t far behind her.

 

And then the doors close. The elevator is already moving down towards the basement. But she hasn’t moved. Rey is just staring at the steel doors, traumatised, uncomprehending and wondering if she needs to go into witness protection.

 

“What — the — fuck just happened?” She stammers.

 

It’s too much; she can’t function. Her brain has mulched to the consistency of handbag vomit and she’s half a second away, from prizing the doors open, and throwing herself into the dark pit of the elevator shaft. It’s only half eight in the morning and she’s already become apart of some bizarre, intense stand off and told—

 

_Oh fucking god._

 

“I told the Vice CEO to fire me.” She groans, sliding down the elevator wall. It’s all coming back to her now.

 

She thought the bathroom floor on her first day couldn’t be topped.

 

“I — fire — Ben — fuck.”

 

But apparently it can.

 

And just like that first day, the elevator doors open and reveal Rose on the other side. She doesn’t even look surprised to find Rey sat on the floor. Obviously she has questions, because this — whatever _this_ is — is not normal. You don’t usually find someone mid break down, at the base ofthe building, slumped against the elevator wall, with a vacant, dazed expression on their face.

 

Rose’s mouth goes to open and—

 

“Before you say anything—”

 

Rose’s mouth immediately snaps shut.

 

“I’m going to need some of that champagne.”

 

Rose goes to open her mouth again and—

 

“Or your handbag vomit.” Rey continues, in full swing of her downward spiral. “Or bleach from the cleaning closet.”

 

“Rey—”

 

“Either one will do fine.”

 

“Rey, you need—”

 

“Or maybe both.”

 

“Rey you need to get up. The elev—”

 

“Which one will kill me quicker?”

 

“Okay.” Rose huffs, clearly losing her patience as she strides into the elevator, and tugs Rey up from the floor. “Come on Beyoncé. Let’s get you out of this elevator, before someone else finds you talking to yourself.”

 

And once again, Rose hoists her up with a concerning amount of strength. It’s with such ease that Rey is starting wonder if Rose’s breakfast consists of steroids and champagne. Or perhaps it’s because Rey’s soul has now exited her body and Rose only has her hollow remains to manhandle.

 

The first seems more likely.

 

And Rose is now sat in her usual position. Presiding on her seat of judgement in the form of Rey’s desk. But there’s a softness to it, because she’s leaning across to Rey and pushing back a loose tendril from her buns.

 

She had always wondered what it would be like to have a sister.

 

“I’m banning you from using the elevators.” Rose giggles, while Rey groans at the developing pattern. “Stairs only.” And the only response is the slight creak of Rey’s desk chair, as she swivels around in an aimless circles. Rose frowns slightly. “Rey, whatever is bothering you, I’m sure it can be—“

 

“It was Kylo.”

 

“Oh what’s that lanky prick done now?” Rose scowls at his name. Her knuckles fist into a tight clamp around the edge of Rey’s desk.

 

“He answered his phone.” She murmurs vacantly.

 

“Okay you’ve lost me. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 

“Friday night. On the dance floor.”

 

Rose’s entire posture stiffens. The metronome of her legs now in permanent suspension.

 

“The drunk phone call you were laughing about.”

 

“Rey, please tell me you didn’t do what I th—”

 

“It was Kylo.”

 

It comes out like vomit. But her voice sounds so measured, so calm. When the reality is, she’s battling the urge to empty her insides. Rose on the other hand, who has already omitted her body weight in sick today, is now paling up for round two.

 

“Does he know it was you?”

 

“Yep.” Rey’s lips pop. Because knowing it was her is an understatement. He’s probably, right in this moment, planning how to use the elevator as a guillotine.

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

And Rey’s mouth is about to open to answer, until a ping from her computer steals the spotlight. The swivel of her chair stops dead centre in front of her monitor. Both of them now lean in to read the email that reigns at the top of her inbox.

 

She doesn’t need to read it’s contents to know; she can see the subject line.

 

 **From:** Kylo Ren.

 **Sent:** Monday28th March 201908:37

 **To:** Rey Kenobi.

 **Subject** : RE: Notice of Disciplinary meeting.

 

“That son of a b—”

 

* * *

 

The entire of floor eighteen is on standby. There’s a tense silence; the occasional whisper. 

 

“What did Ren do now?”

 

Phones ring. Nobody answers.

 

“I don’t know. But he’s about to die.”

 

The photocopier spews papers. Nobody collects them.

 

“Should we tell him?”

 

Because everyone is too busy watching Rey, march down the hallway, grinding her teeth down to the consistency of chalk, and balling up a piece of paper in the tight clamp of her hand.

 

“Nah, just put it in a email. I want to see this.”

 

Maybe gunning for his office and strangling him with his own phone cord, is probably not the most professional solution to a workplace dispute. But in this moment, Rey doesn’t have the capacity to make sensible choices.

 

And a life sentence for murder doesn’t sound so bad.

 

Because Rey is now a tidal wave across the entire of floor eighteen. Each one of her steps now creates a violent current of heads turning to track her. An intern has already started filming it on his phone.

 

Maybe it will go viral.

 

Do they let you check Twitter in prison?

 

She’s getting off track. She needs to focus on murdering him first. Strangulation by phone cord is too gentle, but asphyxiating on the balled up print out of his email, that she’s going to shove down his throat? — _perfect._ There wasn’t a moment of doubt when she first saw it in her inbox. The printout was already in her hand and Rose was too slow to stop her. Which is surprising because Rose actually belly flopped off the table to grab her.

 

Obviously she missed.

 

Because Rey is now twenty feet away from martyring herself.

 

She can see his stupid fluffed up hair through the glass wall. He’s too engrossed in his computer screen. Which will only make her verbal, expletive assault on him even more satisfying. She’s never seen a more pathetic prey, so oblivious to the shit storm that’s forming outside of his door.

 

_Fifteen feet._

 

And Kylo is still fixated on his monitor.

 

_Ten feet._

 

It’ll resemble dust once she’s finished with him.

 

She’s so _close._ The jagged corners of the email now cut into the palm of her hand, while the other stretches out for the handle of his door. She’s not going to even bother with the courtesy of knocking. She’s going to burst the door of it’s hinges and—

 

“I’ve got her!” Rose screeches, tackling her sideways with such force, they both travel into the neighbouring corridor.

 

Where the fuck did she even come from? Actually… how did she get up here so quickly?! They’re still on the floor; Rose sprawled across Rey, whose entire left hand side is throbbing with the impact. The sweat is raining from Rose’s fringe and landing directly into her mouth.

 

 _Oh god_. It tastes like stale, salty champagne.

 

“Ummm… Ow?!” Rey groans, sitting up onto her elbows and holding onto the rubbled remains of her ribcage.

 

“Sorry but I— _Fuck_ , that was a lot of stairs.” Rose pants into the crook of her arm, as she sits back on her heels.

 

“Did you climb—”

 

“Eighteen flights of stairs, while hungover?” Rose heaves for air, as they both lie in the middle of the corridor, oblivious to the office traffic around them. “Yeah. Yeah I think I did.”

 

She’s telling the truth. There was no denying the thick sheen of sweat across her face and the wild tufts of hair sticking out in every direction. Which means the entire time Rey was sandwiched between Poe and Amilyn, Rose had been climbing the building’s staircase like a grasshopper.

 

And apparently Phasma had as well.

 

Because she rounds the corridor seconds later and instantly relaxes at the sight of Rose and Rey sprawled across the floor. She wobbles slightly on her heels as she reaches them, but when she finally does, she’s immediately hunched over, hands on her knees, dragging in deep, desperate breaths.

 

How does she still have ankles?

 

“If you think, for one second,—“ She pauses to gulp for more air. “We’re going to let that, oversized, Hot Topic reject, fire you—” She holds up her index finger, signalling for a split second timeout. “—Then you best think again.”

 

“But the discipl—” Rey protests, clearly annoyed that Kylo isn’t begging for his life right now.

 

“ _But!_ ” Phasma interjects, her head finally swinging up from her knees. Which only increases the amount of weird looks they’re getting. “I think you’re forgetting something darling.”

 

The confusion is already present on Rey’s face, but it’s short-lived because the way Rose’s eyes ignite with mischief, as she pushes herself up from the floor, says it all. Her hand now outstretched for Rey to take.

 

“You’ve got a meeting to get ready for.”

 

And then the penny drops.

 

Because if Kylo wants to bury her career, he should have been more careful and packed the dirt over her grave tighter.

 

So Kylo never saw Rey gunning for his door. He never saw Rose catch her with a tackle, the NFL would be proud of. He also never saw the three of them walking towards the elevator, putting their plan in motion and Rey listening to every meticulous detail, as they ride back down to the basement.

 

He was completely oblivious.

 

The fucking idiot.

 

“Can you turn to the left a little bit?”

 

Rey obeys.

 

“Just a little bit more.”

 

She readjusts.

 

“Perfect! Just stay very, _very_ still.” Rose mumbles at her feet, hemming the trousers of Phasma’s pantsuit to fit her height.

 

“Are you sure this is going to be enough?” Rey whines, from her makeshift platform, they’ve created from boxes of printer paper, in the center of the basement.

 

“Yeah, of course!” Rose nods, her focus still very much on Rey’s ankles. “Paperclips will hold it for a few hours.”

 

“That’s not what she meant Sweetie.” Phasma sighs, standing up from her seat on the desk and walking towards Rey, who is currently several feet higher than her. The novelty is weird, she’s never looked down on Phasma before. It feels off — wrong even. But Phasma takes her hands in her own and squeezes tight. “That Corporate Emo isn’t going to know what’s hit him.”

 

“But—”

 

“ _But_ —” Phasma continues, hands smoothing down the creases on the black collars of Rey’s new suit jacket. “You are the best hire this company has had in years. You run this entire building’s network, all by _yourself._ You presented a training seminar, _without_ the slideshow, in front of the whole company, in your first week. _And…_ There’s only one person in this entire building, that can rock my own pantsuit better than me, while taking on that supersized asshole.” Phasma’s hands recapture her own. They squeeze even tighter than before. “And that’s Rey goddamn Kenobi.”

 

“Yeah! What she said.” Rose murmurs in awe with a paperclip between her teeth. The work on the trouser hem paused, just so she can kneel at the base of their feet, and look up as if she has never believed in any religion more than this one.

 

“So are we finished here?” Phasma asks, smiling down at Rose.

 

“Huh? Oh — _Oh!_ Yeah I finished ages ago.” Rose grins back, rising from the floor and dusting her hands off in the process. “The feminism really does look great from the floor.”

 

“Excellent.” Phasma winks, her eyebrows wagging in that telling way, and the pair of them both stand back to take in their work.

 

And the pair of them just stand in awe at her. Rey’s usual jeans and T-shirt combination is long gone and replaced with something far more powerful. The all black suit, with the help of Rose, now clings and curves in all the right places. Soft lines and sharp contours, that all come together, to help radiate a power Rey has never experienced before.

 

All three of her buns have been freed, just so her hair can fall in elegant waves around her shoulders. Her lips, now darkened with one of Phasma’s deep crimson lipstick, contrast against the soft sprinkling of freckles — it’s the perfect balance. And despite the raised platform, Rey still stands several inches taller in the high heels, that one of the interns had temporarily loaned them.

 

“So…” Rey’s arms open in question. “How do I look?”

 

Obviously she has dressed for business before, but never quite like _this._

 

“You look—“ Rose whispers with wonder, her eyes drinking in every detail. But it’s Phasma’s voice, full of pride and warmth, that answers her question.

 

“Like a CEO.”

 

* * *

 

Five hours.

 

Five fucking hours she’s been staring at this stupid email. Rose and Phasma long gone to continue — oh, you know — their _jobs._ But Rey? Well Rey, was still hiding in the basement, in her power suit, scowling at that tyrant’s email.

 

She’s read the fucking thing over a hundred times — _at least._

 

 **From:** Kylo Ren.

 **Sent:** Monday 28th March 201908:37

 **To:** Rey Kenobi.

 **Subject** : RE: Notice of Disciplinary meeting.

 

_Miss Kenobi,_

_This is an official notification of your disciplinary meeting dated for Monday 28th March 2019 at 18:00pm. Your disciplinary meeting, that will be overseen by myself, will regard your violation of Article 13, paragraph 3 of your contract._

_As your aware in your role and from the training you hosted regarding online safety, I am sure you understand the importance of safeguarding personal information. However because you have admitted breaching an employee’s personal details, which is a clear violation of your job role, I must take further action._

_Because of this breach of confidence in your ability to carry out your responsibilities, as The First Order’s IT Technician, you will now be expected to attend a formal meeting with myself, at the end of the day. Please refer to the time and date I have given you at the top of this email._

_Failure to attend this meeting may resort in the termination of your contract and a copy of this reprimand, and it’s following meeting, will be placed in your personnel file._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Kylo Ren_

_Vice CEO of First Order Industries._

 

So that was why his office was still intact when she stormed out of it. That was why his eyes were burning into his monitor, when she went to storm back in with the print out. Clearly trashing his office was no longer an outlet. Rey’s career and the years of hard work, she had put in to get there, were now far more enticing to play with.

 

And she would have been terrified… If he actually spellchecked his own email. She’s already typing out the response.

 

This is a bad idea.

 

 **From:** Rey Kenobi. 

 **Sent:** Monday,28th March 201916:28pm

 **To:** Kylo Ren.

 **Subject** : RE: RE: Spellcheck — Have you heard of it?

 

_*you’re._

 

_Rey Kenobi_

_IT Technician for First Order Industries._

 

This is a very bad idea. 

 

 _Whoosh._ It’s sent. It’s out there. It’s probably reached his computer already. _Oh god._

 

“I’m so fired.” She whines into her hands, as her head thuds onto her desk.

 

Kylo never replies to her email and it’s the most painful hour of her life — _the waiting._

 

Rey paces the entire server room that connects to her office. Even with the lowered temperature, her palms are still sweating to the point of medical concern. Should this much water seep from your body? Are her fingers supposed to prune from the anxious sweat? It actually becomes so severe, she even has to stop herself from drying her palms against Phasma’s designer pantsuit.

 

But it doesn’t stop her from looping around the same block of servers for the millionth time.

 

Her heels echo across the room. A continual strike that counts down to her inevitable death on floor eighteen. Rey refuses to look at the clock, she’s set an alarm on her phone. Everyone will be getting ready to go home. The whole building above her is emptying with every passing second. Some will be going out for drinks with their coworkers and friends, while some will go home to their family, to their happy marriages — or their failing ones.

 

But not Rey.

 

_No._

 

She’s going to something _far_ worse. Maybe she could just—

 

The alarm goes off.

 

Too late.

 

She can’t remember walking to the elevator. Her mind is so distant, so far out from rescue. Her resolve, a cast off in the violent storm of her thoughts. How did she let herself drift out so far?

 

No one gets in the elevator; she’s grateful. She needs this time, this space, to breathe.

 

Just breathe.

 

_In. Out. In. Out. In. Out._

 

Again.

 

_In. Out. In. Out. In. Out._

 

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket; the chain is broken.

 

**Phas**

_You can do this. If he fires you, we will not hesitate to make the building resemble a scene from Les Miserable!_

 

**Rose**

_I believe in you. I love you. But I want you to skin him alive._

 

**Phas**

_Viva la Rey!!!_

 

**Rose**

_I need a new rug ;)_

 

The warmth she feels is fleeting. The doors open on floor eighteen, abandoned and far too quiet. But she hasn’t moved. She can see his office from the elevator and any hope she feels, is immediately snatched from her.

 

Because Kylo is staring directly at her.

 

It's the first thing she notices; the glass wall, his hands in his pockets —the evident waiting.

 

And it’s just them.

 

“Good.” Rey seethes under her breath. “No witnesses.”

 

And Kylo is the first to look away when she finally steps out into the corridor. He’s already engrossed in his work, when she reaches his door. Should she knock? She doesn’t want to. Rey would much rather stab her stiletto heel through the door, like she’s in some bargain bin slasher film. But she probably shouldn’t, so she settles for racking her knuckles softly on the door instead. 

 

“Enter.”

 

God the man is such a Victorian. Rey gifts herself the luxury of one last eye roll, before entering and saving the remnants of her career.

 

“Miss Kenobi.” He acknowledges her, without even looking up from whatever he is scrawling across a piece of paper. “ _Sit.”_

 

That rude, power drunk, motherf—

 

_No._

 

_Not now._

 

Rey sits in the chair opposite his desk, ignoring the more dominant voice in her head shouting at her to disobey. Kylo continues to scribe whatever letter he is writing and says _nothing_. He still hasn’t looked at her yet.

 

And what kind of psychopath ignores the laptop next to them and writes on paper instead?!

 

“ _Ahem_.” Rey clears her throat and Kylo’s finger immediately comes up to signal her wait.

 

Okay. This whole professional, CEO vibe, is going out the window. What she’s going to do is, shrug herself free of this paper clip tailored suit, and murder him with the fountain pen he’s using. And then she’ll—

 

_No._

 

No she’s not. What she’s going to do is, count down from five and remember the breathing exercises Rose taught her.

 

_Five._

 

_Four._

 

_Three._

 

“I assume you know why you’re here.”

 

Well at least she tried.

 

“No.”

 

That’s a lie. Her nose twitches when she lies; it’s twitching right now. But he’s not looking — thank fuck.

 

“Well we have an extensive list of incidents to discuss, Miss Kenobi. Perhaps you can tell me why—” Kylo freezes mid sentence. The ink from his pen now forming a small pool of obsidian across the paper. “ His face gives nothing away when he finally manages to look at her. Clearly he’s mastered the art of remaining impassive. His voice on the other hand?“You took out your buns.”

 

Well… _that_ gives everything away.

 

“You want me to explain why I took out my buns?” Rey’s head cocks to the side, struggling to fight the smirk forming on her lips.

 

“No Miss Kenobi.” Kylo coughs, in a weak attempt to recover the serious tone of his voice. “Your choice of hairstyle will not lessen the severity of your situation.”

 

Oh fuck.

 

“No matter how nice it looks.”

 

Oh fuck?

 

Did he just—

 

Was that a—

 

“So let’s start with last Monday morning.” Kylo continues, leaning back into his chair, while his suit most likely screams against the pull of his arms crossing against his chest. “When you flipped me off in the elevator.”

 

Rey immediately snorts at the memory.

 

“Something funny Miss Kenobi?” His eyebrows now living in his hairline.

 

“No.” Rey coughs, her eyes darting down to her lap. “Absolutely not.”

 

“Or perhaps we should discuss your rather expletive phone call to my assistant?”

 

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

 

“And of course how can we forget the little stunt you pulled in your training seminar.”

 

“Oh fuck off!” Rey protests, no longer caring about the consequences. “ _You_ tampered with _my_ slideshow!”

 

And then the fucker does the worst thing possible; he smiles.

 

“Prove it.”

 

_Five._

 

_Four._

 

_Three._

 

Okay fuck breathing exercises. Agency work is better than this.

 

“You know what, you fucking big emo.” Rey rises from her chair, hands spread across his desk, just so she can lean in closer. “I have not spent seven sleepless nights, repairing that dinosaur you call a laptop, just to sit here and be berated by _you._ ”

 

Kylo doesn’t even attempt to open his mouth. Rey is already halfway across his desk.

 

“So do not think for one second, you are going to get an apology from me. Because you are — by far — the _worst_ boss I have ever worked for. Not only do you have zero respect for your staff or company property…”

 

This is the worst case of verbal vomit, Rey has ever experienced.

 

And she’s still not finished.

 

“But you are so _goddamn_ arrogant and entitled. Look at you!” Her hand gestures with distain.“The spire of your ivory tower is lodged so far up your ass, you’ve now become a permanent fixture, you fucking gargoyle.”

 

“Miss Kenobi—”

 

Nice try Satan.

 

“So no, I will not apologise for all of my ‘ _misconducts_ ’ today, or ever, for that matter.” Her hand now splays across his work, as she leans in dangerously close. The ink already staining the rivets of her palm. “Because next time you order someone to fix your laptop, perhaps you should consider changing the account name—”

 

Don’t say it.

 

Don’t say it.

 

Don’t say it.

 

“… _Ben._ ”

 

His fountain pen snaps instantly in his hand. Black ink bleeds between Rey’s fingers and whatever he was writing — it’s past the point of saving.

 

Much like Rey’s career.

 

“A word of advice Miss Kenobi.” He whispers calmer than she was expecting and leaning in far too close. “When you experience a _real_ disciplinary meeting, may I suggest a muzzle?”

 

Rey’s rocks slightly on the base of her heels as his words immediately pull her back into the room, and back across her side of the desk.

 

Did he just say—

 

_Oh fucking god._

 

“This was never a disciplinary meeting was it?”

 

“No.”

 

He’s smiling.

 

“This was never going to go on my personnel record?”

 

“No.”

 

He actually bites into his lip to stifle the laugh.

 

“Are you going to fire me?”

 

“ _No_.” Kylo shakes his head, rising from his chair and walking round his desk to meet her and sparing barely an inch of space between them. “I just wanted to see what you would be like without an audience.”

 

His eyes flick to the glass wall and only their reflections greet them.

 

“I despise you.” Rey spits up at him and Kylo’s eyes shoots back from her reflection in the glass, as he chews into the curved smile of his lips.

 

“And I fucking win.”

 

The smug smile he wears and the fact it’s so fucking close to her face, is what pushes her to do the pettiest thing of all.

 

“Really?” She whispers, on the highest peak of her toes.

 

What is it they say about snitches?

 

“Let’s see what the CEO has to say about you faking a disciplinary hearing.”

 

And his smile is immediately wiped from his face.

 

“I assume Mr Snoke is still in his office?” Rey asks sweetly, already turning the handle of his door and walking out of his office.

 

Kylo is already on her heels, panicked and feral.

 

“Kenobi! Wait — stop!” His voice echoes several corridors behind her. She ignores him, turning corner after corner. Empty offices blur into one; glass walls revealing nothing but her reflection.

 

Until she turns the next corner.

 

Her feet lock to the floor when she sees them in the office at the end of the corridor.

 

Poe and Amilyn.

 

Kissing with a starvation Rey has never seen.

 

“I th—“

 

Her words cut off when Poe sweeps Amilyn’s computer off her desk, just so he can spread her across the empty space. The computer remains in shards of wires and glass around their feet. He’s already tugging at the belt of his trousers. And yet her mind can only replay the reel of their stand off this morning. The seething hatred she knows she felt between them.

 

“I thought they hated each other.” She speaks it more to herself. But she knows Kylo is behind her, watching just like she is.

 

And she doesn’t realise just how close he is until she feels the heat of his breath against the shell of her ear.

 

“Well looks can be deceiving—”

 

Amilyn’s back curls against the surface. Lilac curls cascade with a displaced softness down the side of her desk.

 

_“—Sweetheart.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this drunk, in bed, with my best friend next to me. I look forward to the hangover and comments. 
> 
> Ps. Thank you for not raising pitchforks and torches at me for the massive gap in updates. I finally got there and I hope the wait was worth it. 
> 
> Also please remind me to hydrate in the morning on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) and [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com). 8am Me will need it.


	7. Blocked

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**Blocked.**

 

 

“More.” 

 

The glass fills again; Rey swallows it in one.

 

“More.”

 

They share a look between them. A nod permits another shot but it’s knocked back immediately.

 

“ _More_.”

 

Another nod, another glass; she throws it back and chokes. Okay, so _apparently_ three consecutive shots of neat bourbon isn’t as easy as the old western films made it out to be.

 

John Wayne lied to her.

 

“Okay, no more.” Her voice rasps, the cold air shooting to the back of her now burning uvula.

 

“Feeling any better?” Phasma rubs her back as if to massage oxygen back into her body.

 

“No.”

 

Because cowboys sit on a saddle of lies and obviously it has _absolutely_ nothing to do with the residual alcohol burning the first two layers of flesh, on the inside of her mouth.

 

“You need to tell us what happened.” Phasma continues to rub circles across the plain of her back, which is pointless, because Rey’s insides are ablaze with regret and self loathing. “We’ve been sat on the steps outside your building for ages.”

 

“Yeah, we were there so long people thought we were homeless and started giving us change!”Rose calls out from somewhere deep inside the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink. “It was the easiest ten dollars I’ve ever— _Aha!_ Found it!”

 

Rey groans into her hands— an obvious mistake, because the fumes of her breath rebound right back into her face and probably burn her eyebrows off.

 

“I’ve hit rock bottom.” Rey stares off into the distance, her eyes vacant and blown out by three measly shots of last year's Christmas bourbon.

 

“No you haven’t — she has.” Phasma points across to Rose on the other side of the kitchen.

 

_What the hell._

 

Is she _—_

 

“Welcome to Rock Bottom.” Rose grins, tipping a massive bottle of bleach, without looking, into the Chanel handbag she spent her entire morning commute to work, vomiting in. “Would you like a brochure?”

 

Rey blinks several times.

 

“Rose.”

 

“Yeah?” She answers, placing the bottle down just so she can zip the bag and shake the bleach around inside.

 

And Rey has never heard a sound quite like _that_.

 

“You know what — never mind.”

 

God, it sounds so _wet._

 

“So…” Phasma coughs over the — whatever it is Rose is doing. “The meeting. What happened?”

 

And although it was only an hour ago, Rey had desperately hoped to forget it. But how can she? How can you can forget verbally slaughtering your superior in his own office? How much bourbon will it take for her to forget the way he looked at her after, or the way his voice sounded against the hollow of her ear. Those two syllables that owned her body with a singular violent shiver. That word. That one fucking word.

 

_Sweetheart._

 

While they just stood there and watched—

 

_Shit._

 

“We’re going to need more bourbon.” The warning thick and sinister in Rey's throat. “And you’re going to want to sit down.”

 

Phasma immediately obeys and pulls up a seat at the opposite side of Rey’s breakfast bar. The smile on her face is long gone, while Rose listens from the other end of the counter. She’s still shaking that bag of sick around, airing out Rey’s apartment with eye watering, artificial citrus scented chemicals. Actually Rey isn’t sure if her eyes are watering with tears of mortifying shame or from the fumes Rose is creating several feet away.

 

And the sounds are _definitely_ getting worse.

 

“Rey.”

 

Rose shakes the bag some more.

 

“Please tell me—”

 

It sounds so… _thick._

 

“You’re not fired—”

 

And it’s _definitely_ getting wetter.

 

“Because I swear to god I will ki—”

 

“I’m not fired.” They both sag with relief. “ _Yet._ ”

 

The wet jiggling sound to her right stops. Phasma and Rose now just blink at her, while Rey fills the newfound silence by popping the cap of the bourbon, and tipping it at such a concerning vertical angle, it should probably be hidden in a brown paper bag.

 

Rey hisses against the burn, the back of her hand now wiping the remnants from her lips.

 

“I did something bad.”

 

Phasma’s face says it all.

 

“How bad? Like ‘I need to get the chardonnay out the fridge’ bad or—?”

 

“No, it’s more of a ’you need to smuggle me out the country’ bad.”

 

Phasma nods as if she completely understands the gravity of Rey’s situation and immediately does what Phasma does best.

 

 _Damage control_.

 

“Rose dear, we’re going to need the cha—”

 

“On it.”

 

Clearly they’ve done this before. They must have drills, practice runs, for this kind of thing. The chardonnay is served between them within seconds and Rose must be committed to finding a matching purse for that bag, because she’s already finished half of her glass by the time she returns to her seat. Rey sips at hers tentatively, because rationing out this golden morphine is imperative to recounting whatever the fuck _that_ was back there.

 

“So before we begin.” Phasma places down her glass, just so her fingers can lock together with resolve. “Is this going to end with us coming up with a way to hide Kylo’s body, because if so — we’re going to need _a lot_ more bleach.”

 

“And chardonnay.” Rose interjects out of view.

 

“I hate to disappoint ladies, but I left Kylo breathing.”

 

_Barely._

 

But they don’t need to know that. Rey is currently trying her utmost to forget it. The way he—

 

No.

 

But he looked so—

 

_No._

 

While Poe and Amilyn—

 

Okay, definitely repressing _that._

 

Fuck, she just needs to say it, rip the metaphorical bandaid off so to speak. Phasma must have all the patience in the world because she’s just elegantly sipping from her own glass, waiting, allowing Rey the time she needs to compartmentalise and—

 

Oh for fucks sake, just say it.

 

“I called Kylo a big emo.”

 

 _See._ That wasn’t so bad.

 

“Oh.” Phasma relaxes with the evident disappointment.” Was that all that was bothering y—”

 

“And then I said his ivory tower was rammed so far up his ass, he was basically a gargoyle.”

 

It’s like oral diarrhoea. She can’t stop.

 

“And then after I finished pissing all over my career, Kylo then revealed that he lied and it wasn’t a disciplinary meeting after all, and he basically wanted a private performance from the Building Beyoncé — _without_ the audience.”

 

“Okay.” Phasma sips her chardonnay, eyebrow arched with sarcasm, completely ignoring the wet, jiggling sound of a biohazard accident waiting to happen next to them. “Anything else?”

 

“Oh and we found Poe fucking Amilyn on her desk.”

 

The effect is immediate. Phasma sprays chardonnay from her mouth, as if she is now a permanent water feature, while Rose’s stomach lined handbag splats loudly across the floor.

 

The silence is painful.

 

And the smell?

 

Oh fucking god the _smell._

 

“So…” Rey shifts uncomfortably under their stunned stare, wiping the gargled chardonnay off her face, as Rose’s body fluid cocktail spreads across the kitchen tile. “Shall we order pizza?”

 

* * *

 

There’s pepperoni between her boobs again. 

 

She hasn’t even opened her eyes yet but she knows. She can just tell. You don’t forget the sensation of dried out food poisoning festering on your chest.

 

Her face scrunches because that’s not all she can feel. What the fu—

 

Okay this is a new low.

 

“Urgh.”

 

She’s spooning a slice of pizza.

 

It’s stuck to her cheek. The cheese now cooled down to glue as she snuggled it like a child would a toy. But hey — at least she made it to her bed this time.

 

Wait.

 

She didn’t order pepperoni last night.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Neither did Rose or Phasma.

 

“I was wrong.” She confesses to the questionable yellow stain on her bedroom ceiling. “ _This_ is rock bottom.”

 

It doesn’t stop her from peeling it off her chest and eating it though. Nobody will know — except the potted plants in her window and by the looks of things, they’ll be taking that secret to the grave _very_ soon. Maybe the food poisoning will kick in and spare her from going to work. Or better yet — kill her. 

 

But of course it doesn’t.

 

Not in the shower. Not during breakfast — pizza obviously. Not on her commute to work, which is annoying because she saw a really nice handbag on the way in.

 

And especially not in the elevator, which immediately travelled upwards when the doors closed and trapped her inside.

 

To floor eighteen.

 

_Oh fuck._

 

What if it was Kylo who summoned it? Kylo, who she hasn’t spoken to since last night when he whispered like sin in her ear, as Amilyn’s legs began to shake around Poe’s waist. The way she shivered at the heat of his breath, while Amilyn’s back began to arch and curl off her desk. The way she didn’t hesitate bolting down the corridor, when Poe kissed up Amilyn’s naval between each frenzied thrust.

 

“Oh fuck.”

 

She needs to get out — _immediately_.

 

“Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Rey spins around the small compartment, as if it’s about to offer up some amazing hiding spot. But there isn’t one — it’s an elevator.

 

Her eyes dart to the level count.

 

_Fifteen._

 

Shit.

 

_Sixteen._

 

Double shit.

 

_Seventeen._

 

_Sh—_

 

The elevator stops. The doors open. A herd of floor seventeen inhabitants charge the open space, filling it right up into the corners, which Rey is now being ironed into by a rather large, perspiring gentleman, who has yet to discover deodorant.

 

Maybe food poisoning wasn’t needed after all.

 

She’s barely visible in the heard. There’s at least ten people or so she thinks. It’s hard to tell with the sweaty hog of a man in front, who is now scratching his ass and blocking the view. She wants to say something, call him out for making his butt dust airborne and inform everyone in the elevator with her, that they are now infected and must say goodbye to their loved ones.

 

Her mouth goes to open but the doors beat her to it.

 

_Floor eighteen._

 

And she doesn’t need to stretch herself up to see why. The immediate change in atmosphere is enough. Ten spines all collectively snap straight and take a wide step back, pushing Rey further into the wall.

 

_Him._

 

“Good morning Mr Ren.”

 

She’s half expecting the elevator cable to snap when he steps in. Even though she’s smuggled well out of view, Rey can easily see his towering height and messy, yet somehow, perfect black hair that rests just above his shoulders.

 

He doesn’t spot her.

 

Butt Scratcher made sure of that.

 

In between shoulders, she can see Kylo reach over to the panel, presumably pressing for his floor. There’s no chance he’ll spot her but that doesn’t stop Rey leaning in closer, to hide behind— _ew_ no, she probably shouldn’t.

 

She immediately pulls back.

 

The doors close. Butt Scratcher’s fingers twitch at the sides, clearly desperate with the urge to dig. The tang of his sweat most likely burning off every eyelash and follicle of hair in her nostrils. Everyone else, Kylo included, still oblivious to the body foraging idiot behind them and the gagging IT technician suffocating in the corner.

 

This is it. This is how she dies.

 

She can hear Kylo, up front, typing furiously into his phone — a sound she’s all too familiar with. There’s awkward coughs and subtle sniffs around her, just to alleviate the agonising tension and sound of Kylo’s thumbs murdering his phone. It’s like the heavy metal version of morse code; Rey can actually pinpoint the moment he hits send, just by the ferocity his thumb crashes into the glass screen.

 

He’s still oblivious and he’ll never know she was here. Another perk of the basement — you’ll be the last person to exit, never having to shove your way through the forest of suits in front. Completely and utterly invisible — something Rey _should_ have aspired to be on her first day.

 

But she didn’t.

 

And now she’s here, trapped in this small enclosed space with him _again._ Yet thankfully oblivious and still typing into his phone, until eventually he’s had enough of virtually berating his victims and sends his last message off with one final smack of his thumb.

 

 _Finally._ Peace and qui—

 

Her phone pings from her pocket.

 

_Loudly._

 

Kylo’s back immediately straightens. His suit whines with the sudden tautness.

 

**Satan.**

_We need to talk._

 

Oh fuck.

 

He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t acknowledged it. Kylo only leans over to the elevator panel and presses for another floor. Rey releases a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding and relaxes slightly against the wall.

 

That was close.

 

The elevator stops on the next floor; the doors open but nobody moves. Several heads look around, clearly confused. Not that Rey cares because she’s still hidden and—

 

“Get out.” Kylo murmurs, the command steeled and deep. “All of you.”

 

Oh. Fuck.

 

There’s no protests, no arguments. Regardless of whether it was their floor or not, everyone immediately obeys and begins to file out one by one. Kylo doesn’t move from his position and stands as an island between the sea of compliant suits that flood out.

 

The elevator empties within seconds.

 

Rey, now free, steps from her corner — desperate, urgent and slightly nauseous. She can see Butt Scratcher in the distance, passing through the doors, finally able to roam in the pastures of freedom. It’s just her left and Kylo still doesn’t know she’s here. She goes to move. One step. Two steps. She’s directly behind him but she’s almost there, almost free.

 

Just one more step and she can—

 

The doors close; Rey skids to a standstill behind him. Her escape is gone, she’s trapped. It’s just her and Kylo, whose hand falls from the panel, back straightening to a menacing height once more. The few seconds of silence are prolonged, drawn out, agony.

 

He still doesn’t know she’s here. Maybe she can get away with this. Maybe she can hide behind him and—

 

“Hello Miss Kenobi.”

 

His voice.

 

_Fuck._

 

It should be a sin.

 

“You didn’t reply to my text.”

 

“I have nothing to say to _you_.” She grits out, her eyes searing into the back of his head.

 

“Is that so?” She can hear his smile. “No witty remark? No feisty comeback?”

 

He turns to face her. Their eyes meet with a fast acting intensity and somehow Kylo’s voice lowers several octaves.

 

“How disappointing.” 

 

Her nostrils flare, her temper pushes through the grind of her teeth. She can feel her nails splintering the palms of her hand, she’s fisted them that tight. Her head draws back as a cobra coils to strike. The instinct to spit back verbal venom now becoming more likely by the second. She’s right in his space again. His cologne invades her senses — spice, cedar and self entitled privilege.

 

“Tell me, have you always had a god complex or did your trust fund make you that way?”

 

“ _Ah.”_ Kylo’s head dips just that bit closer, his eyes ablaze with something Rey can’t place. _“_ There she is.”

 

The way he says it. Just three simple words, which by themselves would amount to nothing. Her mind wants to wander with the possibilities of such a sound, but Rey refuses. This is not an avenue to explore.

 

“But last night” Kylo continues, his eyes aflame with amusement. “You ran away…”

 

He steps closer.

 

“…And I’m still waiting for your apology…”

 

Her back hits the wall.

 

“…I’ve never been very good at waiting.”

 

His hand rises from his side and with a shy hesitancy, he tucks the flyaway hairs behind the shell of her ear, deliberately grazing the side of his finger across her cheek. The touch is a live wire of sensation throughout her body. Her legs wobble slightly under the painful clamp of her thighs, her breath stutters in the chamber of her chest and her mouth parts slightly with the deprivation.

 

She hates him she tells herself.

 

Over and over.

 

_She hates him._

 

“An apology?!” Rey snarls, trying to reclaim the territory she lost. “You’re lucky I didn’t stuff your balls in your mouth.”

 

He watches the tremble of her lips, the way she presses them together just ever so slightly. His eyes take on a possession Rey has never seen before. She can hear the shallow breath he takes, causing his chest to swell more than she ever thought possible. His shirt buttons struggle against the stretch and it only makes her more aware of just how _big_ he is.

 

“One day…” He ignores her, his voice lowering to such a depth, it’s almost intelligible. “I’m going to do something about that smart mouth of yours.”

 

She wants to slide down the wall. The intense heat of his gaze boiling her down to a pathetic, needy goo. Fuck, what is wrong with her? Her back curls slightly off the wall, her focus immediately shifting to the firm press of his lips, as if he’s fighting back something far greater.

 

And then it hits her.

 

Her body begs for it. Her thighs clench for a semblance of relief. His head dips lower, closer. She can hate him later; she can hate herself later. She needs _this_. She needs him to—

 

The elevator stills; the doors open. Kylo pulls back, licking his lips in the process.

 

“So for your sake Miss Kenobi, I suggest you stay out of trouble.”

 

And he’s gone. His bulk already exiting the elevator and marching across the lobby floor. He doesn’t turn around to look back — _thankfully_.

 

Because what he would see if he did.

 

“Fuck.”

 

The heave of her chest that causes her back to crane off the wall.

 

“Fuck.”

 

The subtle sheen of sweat that glistens if the light catches it _just_ right.

 

“Fuck. _”_

 

And the maddening scratch of her fingers against her lips, because she wanted—

 

Fuck. She wanted—

 

“ _Fuck!”_

 

Kylo sees none of this — obviously.

 

The doors are already closing, hiding her from him and the several other spectators in the lobby waiting area. An audience, who are probably all questioning whether, — _yes —_ there was a hyperventilating mess of a woman in the elevator, and — _no —_ she definitely does not want to climb her boss like a tree.

 

She doesn’t.

“He almost— _”_

 

She definitely doesn’t.

 

“I—I—I almost…”

 

It’s completely normal. She talks to herself like this all the time.

 

Until she feels it. Her eyes lower down to _there._ Her thighs graze slightly apart and the feel of damp discount store underwear is immediate.

 

“Traitor.” She grumbles, tugging at the crotch of her trousers like she would a wedgie— which is an immediate mistake.

 

Because the doors open on the basement floor.

 

“Well…” Rose’s head cocks to the side, her eyes flicking between _there_ and Rey’s face now crumpling with shame. “Normally I’d ask what _that_ was but there’s a crisis on the eighth floor.”

 

They trade places. Rose now standing in her spot in the elevator, completely unaware of what just occurred there.

 

“A crisis?”

 

“Oh yeah.” She grimaces, revealing the toilet plunger from behind her back, just as the doors begin to close. “A _big_ one.”

 

And then it’s just Rey — alone and wishing she had taken the stairs. She’s still holding onto her phone, his text message still shouting from her lock screen, and she doesn’t hesitate to bin it in the first draw of her desk when she finally sits down. Her fingers practically punch her keyboard when she logs in. Her password takes her two attempts because of hard she mashes the keys.

 

And by the time her stone age system is set and ready to serve, she’s considering joining Rose on the eighth floor and flushing herself away with the rest of the shit.

 

Because the emails?

 

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

Well the emails are endless.

 

A hundred password reset requests at least. All accounts she has to manually log in to, just so they can continue using company time to scroll through Facebook. Which is infuriating because nobody cares about what your cat had for dinner last night and, yes Sandra from accounting, everyone has seen the frog meme you’ve shared _five_ times already.

 

And if that wasn’t enough; there’s the photocopier on the eleventh floor that is constantly spewing blank paper. The intern that apparently jammed a USB into the charging port of his laptop, is wondering why it won’t come out. The Exec thirteen floors up, wants to know if in-private browsing really works and how can he be sure his wife won’t see it.

 

She should have followed Rose. Being shoulder deep in shit sounds far more appealing. But her teeth don’t really set on edge until the phone rings.

 

“Hi, this is Rey in IT.”

 

“ _My mouse isn’t working.”_

 

“Right…” Her thumb massages painfully hard into her left eye. “Is it USB or wireless?”

 

“ _Wireless. But I don’t see why that’s important.”_

 

She doesn’t recognise the caller, but he’s still a rude asshole regardless.

 

“Okay so I’ll need the mouse and the wireless dongle that came with it. It looks like a little USB. I’ll need them so I can do some troubleshooting.”

 

“ _I threw it away.”_

 

Rey almost spits cold coffee across her dual monitor.

 

“I’m sorry, did you say you threw it away?”

 

“ _Yeah. It’s wireless, so I shouldn’t have to plug anything in.”_

 

Oh good god. Her thumb rubs deeper into the socket of her eye, with the hope she’ll reach her brain and lobotomise herself.

 

“Sir.” She sighs, wondering if she’ll penetrate her skull soon. “With all due respect—“

 

“ _Actually I don’t even know why we pay you IT clowns.”_

 

Rey’s mouth snaps shut, her thumb falls from her eye socket. She’s been in this field long enough to know exactly where this asshole is steering his ego. _But_ — she’s going to give him the benefit of the doubt, because if she’s learnt anything in the last ten minutes, it’s that sometimes it better to be the bigger person and just—

 

“ _Especially a girl.”_

 

Okay _._ Well now he’s just asking for it.

 

“Well it’s your lucky day!” Rey sings.

 

Oh yes. He has _definitely_ brought this on himself.

 

“ _It is?”_ The man’s interest clearly audible through the call.

 

 _“_ Yep, you’ll be pleased to know the mouse is fully functional and I have identified the problem.”

 

Because if apprenticing under IT powerhouse Maz Kanata for three years has taught her anything, it’s that sometimes it takes balls to be a woman.

 

“The problem—” She grits out, her temper becoming more palpable by the second. “Is overpaid, unqualified egos like _you_ , assuming I must be wrong because of the dead flesh I’m lacking between my legs.”

 

The static silence crackles in her ear.

 

“So…” She continues, smiling with the cathartic pleasure to just let go. “I recommend crawling out of your own arse and going to search the garbage for that dongle, because you’re going to need it if you want to continue being a full-time haemorrhoid in a suit.”

 

She can hear the spit he is now scoffing with shock down the phone. It sounds disgusting and she actually starts pulling the phone away to avoid it.

 

“ _Ren is going to hear about this.”_

 

“Yeah… Well you can tell that John Wick wannabe I said hi.”

 

He immediately hangs up. The dial tone already becoming the best declaration of victory Rey has ever heard. She swivels her chair for ten minutes of pure unadulterated celebration. Until she hears her phone vibrate inside the desk draw.

 

The panic comes hand in hand now. But it’s only Rose who has sent a picture of— _Jesus Christ_ that’s disgusting. And that is _definitely_ not a healthy colour. But of course, in typical Rose fashion, she couldn’t leave it there. She just had to add a caption to it as well.

 

**Rose**

_How can anyone walk after doing that?!_

 

She ignores it.

 

**Rose**

_Like srsly the plunger isn’t even making a dent!_

 

She’s still ignoring it.

 

**Rose**

_Hang on I’ve got a plan!_

 

She can absolutely not be apart of this conversation because—

 

**Rose**

_OMG MY GLOVES BROKE!!!_

 

 _“_ Ahem.”

 

Rey’s attention immediately snaps up from her phone. Her eyes still burned with the image of that titanic sized sh—

 

“Sorry is there a problem?” Amilyn smiles with a considerate warmth most people, in her position of power, would not spare her. "Have I come at a bad time?”

 

It’s _her_. The lilac haired badass from the elevator yesterday morning. The same badass who Rey saw—

 

 _Oh god._ Act normal.

 

“N-no-no-no! There’s no problem.” Rey grins back panicked and with as much sweet innocence as she can muster.

 

**Rose**

_REY IT’S UNDER MY FINGER NAILS!!!!_

 

**Rose**

_OMg Is tHAT WHaT I ThINk iT Is_

 

Rey practically launches her phone into the drawer of her desk, wincing at the ferocity she slams it shut. But it wasn’t fast enough because she still saw the line of sweetcorn emojis just before she did.

 

“How can I help?” She grins with a false smile that does nothing to hide what she’s just seen.

 

And then she looks down into Amilyn’s arms and she knows exactly why she wants her help.

 

 _The_ computer.

 

Which is in pieces, but she recognises it. Poe swept it from the desk just so he could—

 

_Oh fuck._

 

“My desk broke.”

 

Rey bets it did.

 

“I’m not sure how it happened.”

 

You got your back cracked by your inferior. On your own desk? — which isn’t short of iconic but definitely not the answer to give her.

 

“Leave it with me.” Rey offers up instead, which cause Amilyn’s entire body to relax in a way that Rey wishes she hasn’t seen before.

 

But she’s a terrible liar. Her nose is twitching again. She can feel it and she’s sure Amilyn can see it. She must look absolutely insane. How do you pokerface the same person you saw last night having desk sex with their mortal enemy? And why does she have the impulse to ask ‘how was it?’

 

 _Why_ does she want to know that? Why does she want to ask for every little grain of dirty detail. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t had anything that isn’t rubber or battery powered in the last three years. So it’s pretty much a raisin cave down there.

 

Yep that’s the reason why she wants to know.

 

That’s what she’s going to tell herself — _repeatedly._

 

“Just put it on my work table over there.” Rey gestures to the desk already overflowing with coffee ruined keyboards and towered boxes of dead batteries.

 

She should really get on top of that.

 

Which is _definitely_ the wrong choice of words.

 

“I really appreciate this.” Amilyn smiles with a real, palpable, warmth.“It’s Rey right?”

 

And she can only nod because even answering with a simple ‘yes' is too much and her nose is still — _fucking_ — twitching.

 

“Well Rey, if there’s anything I love more than watching the Vice CEO humiliate himself, it’s meeting the woman who’s behind it.”

 

Her hand comes out across the desk in offering, her smile widening by the second and Rey doesn’t hesitate to take it.

 

“Give him _hell._ ” 

 

And with a wink she’s gone.

 

But it’s the muffled buzz of the phone in her desk that brings her back to reality and the realisation, that the entire time she was talking to Amilyn, Rose was—

 

“Oh fuck!” She lunges from her chair. “Rose!”

 

* * *

 

 

She’s not exactly sure what to expect when she walks in. She’s not entirely certain she wants to find out when she does. So it’s with a delayed hesitancy, she finally pushes open the door and sees—

 

“There — was — so — _much._ ” Rose murmurs somewhere off in the distance, slumped against the opposite wall of the bathroom.

 

“Rose, oh my god I’m so sorry! Amilyn came into my office and I thought she was—”

 

“It broke the plunger.” She whispers, her eyes widening just a fraction and Rey isn’t entirely sure Rose knows she’s there. “I had no other choice.”

 

And her stomach immediately becomes dead weight.

 

“Rose. Please tell me you didn’t…”

 

“I lost a glove.” Her bare hand flexes at her side. Her voice suddenly becoming increasingly small. “And I don’t know where it went.” 

 

Rey wants to heave.

 

For the rest of her life.

 

“Come on.” Rey pulls her up, being careful enough to only grab under her arms and nowhere else. “Let’s get you back to the basement. This will be our little secret.”

 

“I love you.” Rose murmurs with the movement, most likely intoxicated with the fumes from _that._

 

“I love you too Tico. Come on. Up you get. That’s it.”

 

And that’s when Rey learns two things. Number one being, no matter how easy Rose makes it look, lifting a person from the floor is entirely the opposite.

 

And Number two? Well that speaks for itself.

 

So it’s no surprise the entire elevator ride, back down to the basement, is spent in silence, which is quickly interrupted by the thick glooping sound of Rose washing every exposed part of her body with antibacterial gel.No inch of her body is spared. Under her armpits, her neck, her face and she even stuffs her hand down her boiler suit trousers just to be sure. The woman smells like pure chemicals, but it still doesn’t seem to be enough, because she’s opening a second bottle and filling her hand up for round two. 

 

But thankfully the doors open to the basement before she can begin the ritual and Rose immediately heads to the toilets with the claim she’s going to ‘wash her skin in the bathroom sink until it peels off’. 

 

And luckily Rose doesn’t ask for the help, because not only has Rey got all of her previous jobs from this morning to finish, she now has Amilyn’s sex destroyed computer added to the list as well. So with reluctance, her feet carry her in the opposite direction to her desk, which she is going to refuse to leave for the rest of the day.

 

She rounds the corner, her mind swimming with the combination she’ll need to pull off clearing this colossal mess of shit she’s allowed to build up.

 

Which is again — the wrong choice of words.

 

But then she feels it. The air feels different, the pressure feels off. She can’t put her finger on it but every nerve in her body thrums with a tidal wave of sensory overload. The panic in her gut is a painful, constricting knife that twists in her stomach.

 

And it’s when she reaches the doorway, she finally understands why.

 

“You know Miss Kenobi…”

 

Kylo leans back into her chair, claiming the desk as his own. A single hand working at the button of his suit jacket.

 

“You really should have taken the stairs.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hands up. How many of you have the urge to wash your hands until they're red raw? 
> 
> That chapter was quite a doozy huh? It took me forever to write and it ended up being pure shit! (Pun most definitely intended) But disgusting jokes aside, I need to say a big fat, toilet blocking thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! The response was insane and far more than I deserved, especially seeing how long I made you wait for this one.
> 
> To @Akashne, I hope you loved that little nugget I put in for you. To the people who realised Amilyn’s computer would be a whole thing, congratulations! You win a plunger. 
> 
> And this is when I come to the realisation that I made you wait to read about a blocked toilet.
> 
> I want to say it gets better on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) and [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com). But it doesn’t. Come check it out for yourself.


	8. Dead Man Walking

* * *

 

**Chapter 8**

**Dead Man Walking**

 

 

Her mouth is dry, her voice ash in her throat.

 

She swallows — _hard._

 

“What are you doing here?” 

 

He smiles then, pushing himself further back into the chair — _her_ chair. She tries not to look at the material of his trousers tightening around his legs, which are parted with just enough access for her to—

 

“I think you know why Miss Kenobi.”

 

She gulps.

 

Because she does. Rey knows exactly why he’s here and sat, too fucking comfortably, in her chair. And the more he leans back into it, the more territorial she gets.

 

“If you want an apology for my outburst on the phone earlier, then you can shove it up your ar—“

 

“I fired him.”

 

His finger swipes across her desk, just so he can inspect the grit he’s picked up.

 

“He’s being escorted out the building as I speak.”

 

He sounds so proud, so empowered by the ability to control and yet he sounds like he couldn’t care less. Almost as if he’s more interested in the dust he’s collected on his finger.

 

Which, _of course_ , has to be the moment she hones in on just how fucking big it is.

 

“So I suggest Miss Kenobi…” His eyes flicking from that fucking finger, that she’s _still_ fucking staring at. “You choose your next words _very_ carefully _._ ”

 

“I’m not scared of you.” Rey bites back. But it doesn’t sound believable considering she’s still standing in the doorway of her own office, twenty feet away.

 

Kylo’s head falls to the side, his eyes wandering over the chunky knit of her socks that peek over her boots, before climbing up the denim of her jeans and lingering on the thick white jumper that hangs off her right shoulder. His gaze burns a trail of flush across her body and Rey can see every swallow that raises and drops the apple in his throat.

 

“No.” His lips ghost a smile. “You’re most definitely not.”

 

And it’s like the universe wants her to combust with the urge to wreck every fucking inch of this giant walking ego. Because if sitting in her own chair wasn’t enough of an insult, it definitely is when her phone rings.

 

Because Kylo doesn’t hesitate to pick it up and fucking answer it.

 

“Hello.”

 

She freezes mere steps away from her desk, his eyes rooting her to the spot and she internally kicks herself for not being quick enough to stop him.

 

“Is that so?”

 

His fingers swipe across his lips and every muscle in her body clenches. She tries to ignore _that_ traitor between her legs, the small part of her body that dominates and pleads for something that doesn’t have five power settings and a pack of free batteries with every purchase.

 

Shit.

 

At this rate she’s going to have sit on a bag of ice.

 

She’s _depraved._

 

And he’s not helping because his eyes are still burning into her, oblivious to her internal struggle to either bloom them both with bruises, or blindfold them with her legs wrapped around his—

 

“What a mess indeed…”

 

Jesus, his voice.

 

And her underwear. _Ruined_.

 

“Of course. I completely agree…”

 

She can’t hold out much longer. Maybe she could just disregard her hatred and parkour across the desk and suck his—

 

“Oh don’t worry…”

 

Kylo bites back his smile, his eyes still searing into her own as he continues across the call. The pleasure that rolls off of him is volatile, physical, energy that spits around the room as his grip tightens around the phone.

 

“I’ll make sure she cleans it up.”

 

And that’s the moment Rey is convinced her heartbeat now resides between her legs. Her chest feels hollow, her lungs shrivelled, all her veins now whistling with emptiness, as the blood rushes to that needy bitch of a clitoris wrapped up in damp underwear.

 

And the sensation only fucks her off more.

 

Because men don’t have this problem. They just have to fist their hands down their trousers when no one is looking and bust their nu—

 

“Yes.” His voice re-commands her attention, the words still directed to the caller and yet he can’t help but stare at her as he says it. “Every last, little, bit.”

 

Oh god.

 

Oh _fucking_ god.

 

The phone slams down hard and she can’t help but track his hands returning back to his lap, which is—

 

Jesus fucking Christ. She needs to pull it together. This man is her boss. This man makes her life a daily _hell._ This man is the world’s biggest asshole and Rey tries to remind herself that she could, without hesitation, tear him apart if she wanted.

 

But the urge passes as quickly as it bloomed.

 

She needs to know what that phone call was about, because it was probably very important and she should be upstairs fixing a hundred different things all at once — but she’s not. She’s stood in the most torturous bout of silence she has ever experienced, while Kylo looks at her like — well — _that._

 

All dark, brooding and considering every inch of her as if he can’t decide where to start.

 

At this point, she’ll quite happily let him end it all. Death would be a mercy compared to the endless battle to stop herself from defiling every square inch of the brick shithouse in a suit, sitting on her tired desk chair.

 

And _fuck_ it’s only Tuesday.

 

“Now Miss Kenobi…” The chair whines as he leans back. “Where were we?”

 

Her hands fist at her sides. His evident belief of victory is just enough to break the temptation to sit on that devilled smirk of his.

 

Because now? Now she’d much rather slap it off his face.

 

“That phone call was meant for _me_.” Rey stands defiant, the desk being his only protection.

 

Kylo’s head cocks just a fraction. His eyes falling just where her jumper falls off her right shoulder. His mouth goes to open, but he doesn’t even need to make a sound for her to know it’s going to be something dramatically arrogant and most likely rehearsed to himself in the mirror.

 

So he’s not given the chance.

 

“Get up.” Rey snaps.

 

His eyes immediately dart back to her own, his jaw twitching with tension.

 

“Careful Kenobi, perhaps you sh—“

 

“Shut up _Benjamin_.” She spits with a venomous authority, silencing him immediately. “And get off my _goddamn_ chair.”

 

There’s a sharp intake of breath. She can hear the hiss between the unforgiving grind of his teeth. He’s pissed. She can see the clear indicator being the small vein that pulses in his forehead, while his shirt buttons stretch painfully taut, and he somehow manages to snarl with every breath.

 

She’s not afraid.

 

The chair crashes onto it’s back when he stands up.

 

Okay scrap that. She’s afraid.

 

He’s there in two long strides, practically pushing the desk out of the way to get there, until it’s just him and her, and a small no mans land between them.

 

Okay fuck, she’s really, really afraid.

 

“I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologise.” The warning clear, strong and yet a whisper in his throat.

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

The corner of his mouth twitches just barely.

 

“I’m going to give you ten seconds.”

 

“Why haven’t you fired me already?” The question comes out faster than she can stop it and the challenge is masked in false confidence as Rey’s eyes roll up and down him.

 

But he ignores her.

 

“Ten.”

 

“I’ve given you plenty of reasons.”

 

“Nine.”

 

He steps closer.

 

“And you’ve just fired a man for less.”

 

Another step.

 

“Eight.”

 

 _Fuck._

 

“All because of a phone call?”

 

“Seven.”

 

Double _fuck_.

 

“ _Why_ did you fire him Ben?”

 

“Six.”

 

His voice draws out the sound, his eyes still yet to look anywhere but her.

 

“I’ve said far worse.” Her voice knots in her throat.

 

“Five.”

 

He takes another step, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

 

“Four.”

 

“You don’t—”

 

“Three.”

 

“—Intimidate me.” She croaks.

 

“Two.”

 

“I’m not apologising.” She grapples with anything she can conjure, blurting out anything she thinks could provoke him.

 

But it’s not enough.

 

“One.”

 

A final step closes the distance, leaving the slightest separation between them. But withdrawing from him means defeat and that is an option Rey refuses to explore.

 

And the silence is immeasurable. Just deceiving seconds of vast, unending stretches of time that possess her body with a convulsive attack of shivers.

 

And then the back of his fingers lift towards her face, brushing back a parting of her hair. The bed of his nails just barely graze against her cheekbone, and every filament and fibre of nerve ends in her body become a white heat of sensation. But there’s a softness to his voice when he finally speaks. A heady spell of purrs and growls in just the right places and fuck her underwear is drowning in it.

 

“So fearless.” He hums with an inaudible depth, oblivious to the raging war within Rey’s body as his fingers hook the hair behind her ear. The movement is prolonged and slow, as if he’s taking his time mapping out the freckles on her face.

 

“Always hiding behind that smart mouth of yours…”

 

And Rey knows in this moment she’s fucked. Because if her clit had a voice — it would probably be screaming.

 

“What should I do about that Miss Kenobi?”

 

His head dips lower — _closer._

 

“If you want an apology.” Rey growls. “You can forg—”

 

“If I want it…” His eyes fall to her lips. “It’s already mine.”

 

Fuck.

 

He’s not talking about the apology.

 

And Rey loses all self control. She must have, because she can’t possibly think why she would choose to take a step closer. So close in fact, that she can feel her hips press against him just slightly — but _just_ enough.

 

He doesn’t hesitate leaning in closer.

 

And neither does she.

 

“You think I’m the villain.”

 

“No.” Her voice barely there, nails scrunching into her palm. “I think you’re a pretentious arsehole.”

 

The chuckle he makes is— J _esus_. At this rate she’s going to have to burn her underwear, or push it through the paper shredder, because it is completely beyond salvaging.

 

And oh fuck he smells _good_. Why does he have to smell good?! But she can still bring this back. She still has this, completely and utterly, under control. She will not submit and allow this man to look at her mouth like — fuck — like _that._

 

And then his hand wraps around the slight of her back.

 

Oh god.

 

His fingers spread across the arch.

 

They’re big.

 

And without hesitation, Kylo presses her against him.

 

“You are an impetuous _brat._ ” Kylo whispers low and hot against her face, his lips barely inches apart from her own.

 

And whatever Rey was telling herself only seconds before is no longer important. Self restraint be damned; there are other ways to ruin him.

 

“You’re a— ” The comeback collapses in her throat as Kylo’s nose grazes against her own. She can feel his grin against her cheek and her hands fisting the panels of his suit jacket.“You’re a-a—”

 

He presses harder into her back.

 

She sighs.

 

And the words fail because _this_ is it. He’s going to — fuck — _she_ wants him to—

 

“Oh my god!” A distant groan comes from somewhere around the corner. “I never thought I’d get that crap off of me and I- _oop_ …”

 

Rose.

 

Shit.

 

She’s behind them. Her words cutting off the minute she saw, _well,_ whatever was about to happen, Rey will never get to find out — because Kylo is already retreating five professional feet backwards and pocketing _that_ hand in his trousers.

 

The silence quickly becomes static in her ear and the realisation of what she was about to do…

 

Shit.

 

She wanted him to—

 

_Shit!_

 

“Is everything okay?” Rey can hear Rose’s feet awkwardly scuffing circles on the hard floor, but the warning for Kylo is clear enough in her throat, because his head is turning to the upturned desk chair behind them.

 

Which means she didn’t see the — the — _fuck!_ She can’t even admit what she was about to do.

 

“No.” Kylo growls, his eyes still fixed on Rey. “We were in a meeting.”

 

_Liar._

 

“Right…”

 

And Rey still hasn’t turned to look at her — she _can’t._ She’s a god awful liar. Her nose twitches!

 

 _No —_ she can only hope Rose doesn’t spot her thighs grazing for _something_ and her face betraying every second of the internal turmoil. Because she almost kissed him — _almost._ That’s what she’s going to focus on. She can still come back from this. She can still hate him. From a distance.

 

Because she's never leaving the basement ever again.

 

“You can go now.” Kylo's jaw strains with the order, his voice almost betraying the desperation of wanting to be alone _again._

 

“Right.” Rose shuffles awkwardly from behind her; the social cue taking it’s sweet ass time to process. “Oh! Right! Shit. Okay. Right.”

 

Ah, there it is.

 

And somewhere behind her, Rey can hear every footstep she takes, every added inch of distance that means they’ll be alone again. So in that moment, she’s not sure if it’s the pure euphoria cheering from that bitch of a vagina between her legs, or if it’s her brain screaming at her to do something.

 

_Anything._

 

Because being alone with that six foot something of arrogance and expensive hair conditioner is dangerous. And her underwear — oh good god her _underwear._ She’s going to have to spend the morning, in a headstand, under the hand dryer.

 

Also dangerous.

 

Because she’s just seen what happens to the bathroom tile when somebody shi—

 

“No! Wait!”

 

The defiance spills from her mouth before she can stop it. Loud, authoritative and in a voice she hardly recognises. Her eyes lock onto Kylo’s, unwavering and refusing him any claim to challenge. She can hear Rose rock on her feet behind her, waiting and probably wondering what the fuck is going on.

 

And Amilyn’s words are a faded echo in her head.

 

_Give him hell._

 

“My meeting with Mr Ren has just finished…” Rey continues, now commanding the silence, her eyes still goring into him.

 

And the look on his face.

 

“He was just leaving.”

 

_Priceless._

 

His mouth opens and closes, perhaps with shock or pure unadulterated rage, Rey can’t be sure. She’s almost expecting her dismissal to follow immediately after — but it doesn’t. His stance is suddenly rigid, unwavering and his silence is a thick swallow that travels down his throat.

 

His eyes flick above her head to Rose. But it’s fleeting.

 

Because Rose is still there — ignoring his orders and choosing to follow _hers._

 

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule, Miss Kenobi.” His voice changes to something stronger, confident — unexpected. “And thank you for volunteering to work late this evening.”

 

_Wait. What…_

 

His mouth twitches — he’s smirking.

 

And Rey’s? Well it’s swinging open and babbling out some weird protesting sound. Not that it matters, because he’s already passing Rose and _fucking hell,_ the height difference between them two is hysterical.

 

But he stops, now several steps behind Rose, who is wide eyed and mouthing something Rey can’t quite make out — but she’s pretty sure it’s _‘what the fuck?!’_

 

“Oh and Miss Kenobi?” The smirk is audible in the way his voice sounds. “The photocopier on eleven has been spewing paper for two hours.”

 

He turns — slow, meticulous and just to ensure he holds her attention.

 

“Clean it up.”

 

So that was the fucking phone call.

 

_Bastard!_

 

She wants to kill him — here and now. But his bulk turns the corner. And then it’s just her, Rose and a whole lot of sodden lace chafing between her skin and jeans. _Urgh._ But that’s not the uncomfortable bit. No, the excruciating and incredibly clear discomfort Rey is now feeling, has nothing to do with underwear soaked in her own depravity.

 

Fuck she wishes it was. Because the silence — Jesus the silence.

 

It _physically_ hurts.

 

“Rose, I can expl—”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Rey’s mouth clamps shut.

 

Shit.

 

“He is such a dick!”

 

And the entire building must hear the exhale Rey releases because her nerves are officially shot. But Rose doesn’t notice, because she’s now fully animated and pacing forwards and backwards mid rant. She can only make out a few words — soap, sweetcorn and then Kylo’s name somewhere on the end. Until she rocks violently on the spot as if she’s suddenly come to a great discovery.

 

“You know I could actually feel the hatred in the room.”

 

Oh god did she just gulp?!

 

“Y-y-you could?”

 

“Yeah!” Rose nods with adamant belief. “It looked like you were about to hit him.”

 

Another gulp, but it sticks in her throat and Rey immediately chokes on the guilt infused spit. Because hitting him, surprisingly, doesn’t even come _close_ to what she was about to do. _God_ , what she was about to do was infinitely a million times worse.

 

And yet, her entire body thrums with the adrenalin of him. She submitted so easily for his stupid big hands. And fuck, she actually sighed when he used his unnecessarily large fingers to press into her back. So if she should hit anyone, it should fucking be herself, because his Herculean hands are just _hands,_ and are definitely not that special, and her vagina is a liar who lies _and_ —

 

“Rey?”

 

Oh shit. Was Rose talking that entire time?

 

“Did you hear what I was saying?”

 

Fucking shit fuck. She was.

 

“Yep.” Rey’s lips pop with the lie, while simultaneously pleading for her nose to stop fucking twitching.

 

“Rey.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’re an awful liar.”

 

The delivery is deadpan yet sincere and despite the hard tone of her voice as she says it, Rose’s face is full of nothing but sympathy. But that still isn’t enough to stop Rey from groaning into the cup of her hands.

 

“Hey!” Rose’s hand finds her back, rubbing smooth circles across her shoulder blades. “Don’t let that prick get to you.”

 

Her underwear says ‘too late’. She’s practically swimming at this point. But the thought only comes out as a louder, and much longer, muffled groan into her hands.

 

“Come on Kenobi.” Rose’s patience finally relents. Her hands grip around Rey's shoulders, manually steering her towards the elevator. “Wallowing down here by yourself isn’t going to do you any good.”

 

“Where are we going?” Rey’s head turns back just in time to see the upturned chair and overflowing work load on her desk.

 

 _Urgh._ At least she’ll have something to do tonight.

 

“We’re going to raid the break room fridge.”

 

Okay. She’s not sure how to reply to that. But her eyebrows travelling up her forehead seem to be a language Rose is fluent in.

 

“Confrontation makes me hungry.” She answers with a lazy shrug, pushing the elevator call button simultaneously. “And I saw one of the interns bring in leftover lasagne.”

 

And Rey never thought it be possible for a human being to inhale poorly microwaved pasta slop so quickly, but within five minutes of being in the break room, Rey suddenly realises her scepticism is misplaced.

 

“Holy shit!”

 

Because the groan Rose makes between mouthfuls…

 

“Oh my god _yes_!”

 

Well… They sound far too orgasmic for her liking.

 

“Fuck this is so good!” 

 

She didn’t even know food could make you feel this way. Maybe she’s been adding water to her packet noodles wrong. And people definitely saw the two of them acting suspicious when they snuck in, and with the noises Rose is making…

 

“It’s so MOIST!”

 

Yeah. People are definitely going to assume something _a lot_ worse than the pair of them eating some intern’s lasagne, clearly cooked by their mother, who apparently has no concept of an appropriate amount of oregano.

 

Not that Rose has even noticed. Because she’s crammed her mouth so full with pasta and cheese, she can no longer vocalise her pleasure and instead settles for banging her fist repeatedly on the table.

 

Rey gives it one hour. One whole hour and the entire building will be alive with the rumour. Two hours and there’ll be a fan fiction swimming across the company network and _fuck_ , hopefully she burns the servers quick enough before hour three, because the fan art that will start circulating — god it doesn’t bear thinking about.

 

But despite the risk of rumours, Rey would rather be here, watching her best friend annihilate somebody else’s lunch. Even now, when she stopped using a fork ten minutes ago. And with an infinitely expanding list of jobs, Rey would still rather be here, watching Rose stain her hands orange forever. It’s the distraction she needs. Because fifteen minutes ago Rey was pretty close to clawing her hands into a mane of jet black hair and face fucking her b—

 

“Wait!” Rose’s head shoots up to the door, her eyes narrowing, her arms curling the lasagne closer to her chest as she tries to listen. “What was that?”

 

Rey’s head turns to the door, still closed, and even with the silence that has replaced the sound of wet chewing; Rey hears nothing.

 

“What was wha—“

 

“ _Shhhh shh shhhhh!”_ Rose hisses, her hand flapping maniacally at her side.

 

“Rose, I can’t hear anyth—”

 

“Fuck! Someone's coming. _Quick_ , cover up the crime scene.” Rose curses, launching the tomato stained tupperware across the room, completely neglecting the evidence of pasta sauce splattered like a murder scene across the pristine counter top.

 

Evidently she’s done this _a lot._ Rey can’t help but laugh because she looks absolutely insa—

 

And then she hears it. The muffled voice, a loud but somehow warm laugh from the other side of the door. It’s only lasagne but it feels like they’ve rinsed out a vault.

 

“Oh shit.” Rey’s voice drops with panic. The voice now slowly becoming more familiar. “Is t-that—”

 

Her head turns to Rose, who is now staring at the door like it’s the gates of hell. Her face drains of the confidence she had when they committed break room treason. The pasta sauce now even more evident across her face.

 

Her voice sounds unrecognisable.

 

“ _Finn_.”

 

And it’s as if the name aloud is what brings her back to reality. Her eyes, bulging and desperate, when they snap to Rey.

 

“You have to hide me!”

 

Rey splutters with the panic because the room is a minimalist’s dream of empty space and the pair of them practically pinball from corner to corner trying to find a hideout. And then the door handle turns.

 

They freeze.

 

She can hear Rose cursing repeatedly under her breath.

 

And just as the door parts open, the idea suddenly strikes. It happens within seconds, Rose not even having the time to process Rey’s hand clawing onto her head and pushing her down behind the fridge door she opened simultaneously. Standing behind it, the door ends at her waist and she leans against it with a suspicious amount of awkwardness.

 

Her eyes drop to Rose, who is now beginning to shiver against the exposed chill. But there’s nothing they can do about it now, because Finn is halfway through the door and staring straight at her.

 

“Oh hey, just the person I’m looking for!” His smile is wide, genuine. “Someone said they saw you in here!”

 

Rey gulps nervously. Trying her hardest to act like she’s not smuggling a five foot maintenance worker in between chilled sandwiches and a concerning amount of salad, which Rose has suddenly spotted.

 

“Yep!” Rey sings, just as her foot finds Rose, subtly kicking her to keep her hands to herself. “Here I am!”

 

He doesn’t hear the small “ _ow”_ from behind the fridge door.

 

“Great! The eleventh floor are going to be glad to see you.”

 

Oh fuck. She forgot about the—

 

“Photocopier keeps shooting out blank paper.”

 

Yep. There it is.

 

“And I think one of the interns keeps topping it up when it runs out.”

 

Okay now she doesn’t feel so bad about being an accomplice to the lasagne heist. 

 

But Finn is still smiling at her. But then it falters and eventually falls because Rey has yet to respond. Fuck this is awkward and it doesn’t help when her eyes flit down to see Rose, who is cramming her mouth with salad, and tipping her head back to pour a bottle of salad cream to compliment it.

 

Rey’s foot goes to find the target — her ass.

 

“Is it just you? Because someone said they saw two people go in here.”

 

Her foot freezes in suspension. Rose’s jaw falls, raining overpriced leaves and salad cream out of her mouth. Her eyes snap to Rey’s, who see’s her sudden panic from her peripheral. He knows. Surely he can see the salad cream with a hint of saliva bleeding under the fridge door. He _must_ know.

 

Rey coughs, ignoring Rose tugging on the bottom of her jeans imploring her to say something convincing — say _anything._

 

“No, it’s just me.” She gulps awkwardly. “Alone. With the fridge.”

 

And she hears Rose’s facepalm rather than see it.

 

“Okay great!”

 

Wait. He bought _that?_

 

“Come on then. Let’s go!”

 

He’s already turning to open the door for her. But Rey can’t move. Because if she does then he’ll wonder why—

 

“Um Rey?”

 

Fuck too late.

 

“Mmm?” She grins far too widely to be conceived as normal.

 

“Why are you still stood behind the fridge door?”

 

The tugging on her jeans gets harder and Rose practically almost yanks them to her ankles when Finn begins walking towards them.

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She needs to say something. He’s almost at the door.

 

“Rey?…”

 

Say something. Now!

 

“Lady problems!” The words escape her in a panicked shout.

 

Finn freezes. Rose stares incredulous from below.

 

“I’m having… lady problems and uhhh… the fridge…”

 

Finn gulps. The discomfort clearly evident in the pure fear behind his eyes.

 

“It… um… it helps.”

 

There’s an awkward silence. Nobody speaks. They only stare at each other for an eternity. The fear froths in the pit of her stomach — until she see’s the double thumbs up from Rose in the corner of her eye, because now she’s certain her insides have turned to ash.

 

There is no way he bought that. There is absolutely no way he would believe she’s using the staff refrigerator as cramp relief and he certainly won’t—

 

“S-shall I just — let them know you’re — _um_ — on your way then?”

 

He’s already backing towards the door like Rey has suddenly revealed her uterus is radioactive. His hand reaching around his back and scrambling for the handle to release him from his newfound prison of oestrogen and menstruation.

 

Fuck. Don’t laugh.

 

Rey nods, swallowing back a smile as Finn pivots in one fluid motion through the door. There’s no hesitation. The door clicks and Rey immediately sags against the fridge.

 

“That was—” Rose huffs, climbing up the door, her hand swiping the stolen salad off her lips. “—fucking _genius!”_

 

“No.” Rey sighs as she pulls salad leaves from Rose’s fringe. “That was fucking _close._ ”

 

Rose’s hand goes up for a high five.

 

“Phas won’t believe this!” She grins, but it’s already beginning to falter. “Hey! Don’t leave me hanging!” 

 

Because Rey’s hand never leaves her side.

 

“Rose how long have you been hiding from him?”

 

Her hand drops, along with her her eyes to the floor.

 

“Have you even spoken to him?”

 

And Rey can see the sadness roll off her shoulders when they sag even lower.

 

“Not since he was promoted from sanitation.” She grumbles down towards her boots, which have begun tracing circles in the splatter of pasta sauce. “We used to meet up and swap sandwiches on our lunch break — one o’ clock on the dot.”

 

Oh.

 

“And then one day—” Her foot digs a little harder into the greasy smear. “He stopped showing up.”

 

_Oh._

 

And the realisation suddenly hits. Finn isn’t a ‘What If’ — he’s just an asshole.

 

“Whatever.” Rose shrugs, her foot swirling orange oil on the floor and despite the defeat thick in her voice, the corners of her mouth curl up just enough for a smile. “I think I just ate his salad anyway.”

 

There’s a flicker of silence. But in Rose’s company, it never lasts. Because they immediately erupt with a laughter that splits their sides and stings their eyes with tears.

 

Until the door rattles again.

 

_Finn._

 

“Shit!”

 

“You have to hide me bef—

 

“I know! I know!”

 

But it’s too late. Rey can’t scramble Rose behind the fridge door quick enough and the pair of them freeze mid wrestle, eyes blown wide with panic infused guilt towards the door.

 

“Hello ladies.”

 

Okay _not_ Finn.

 

From the threshold of the door, Phasma’s eyes scan across the room, her face giving nothing away as she spots the orange splatter stains on the floor and walls, before returning back to Rose and Rey who are still awkwardly frozen in position.

 

A perfectly chiseled eyebrow arches.

 

Oh shit.

 

“Well…” Her tone is serious, terrifying and the pair of them simultaneously gulp. “I’m very disappointed in you both.”

 

_Oh shit._

 

“Because neither of you thought to save me any.” The dark burgundy of her lipstick curls tellingly up into a wicked smile.

 

And it’s like a lifetime of stored up breath escapes the pair of them as they sag against the fridge door with relief. Rey is certain her lungs have shrivelled from the repeated starvation and yet Rose is immediately unfazed and running over to the tower of a woman to high five her.

 

She practically has to jump to make it.

 

And Rey finds herself in one of those moments, watching her two closest friends, knowing that whatever happened this morning — it didn’t matter. Because _this_ is the moment that matters, _this_ is what makes her feel—

 

“Rey, sweetie.” Phasma’s voice claws her from the first bit of bliss she’s felt today. “I was sent — _ordered_ actually — to come and get you. Ren has summoned you on eleven.”

 

_Summoned._

 

She knows Phasma is only repeating his message. But her blood boils under the scorch of her skin, her teeth chiseling with his order.

 

_Summoned?!_

 

How fucking dare he! And whatever happened between them this morning and the immediate dread she felt after is pointless, wasted energy. 

 

Because Finn may be Rose’s ‘What If’.

 

But Kylo Ren is a _dead_ man walking. 

 

* * *

 

She wants to kill him. 

 

The man is Hell wrapped in a perfectly tailored intern’s salary — Oxford shoes _not_ included.

 

_Summoned?!_

 

So smug, so entitled, even when they’re floors apart.

 

_Fucking summoned?!_

 

She wants to strangle him with his own tie. Drown him in the rumoured sea of blank printer paper on floor eleven. Watch him choke on the syllables of a reluctant apology that she coerces from his throat when—

 

“Uhhh… Rey?”

 

Rose is a kickstart to consciousness.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

She’s plotting her boss’ death. Of course she’s okay.

 

“It’s just the vein in your forehead is doing that thing it does when you’re mad and I know he’s an asshole, but maybe we shouldn’t go up there until you’ve calmed down.”

 

Rose’s words sound dulled and distant. Even though she’s right. Going up there in this state is categorically a _bad_ idea. But with only three floors left and no pitstops for redemption, Rey has to accept that this is going to be her fate.

 

Besides, garrotting your boss with a computer wire is still considerably professional when compared to the earlier urge to climb onto his lap and—

 

“ _Fuck…”_

 

Rose’s mouth falls, the hard ending word coming apart with the doors and whatever bizarre, sexually infused anger Rey felt only seconds before, it is immediately absolved when floor eleven is opened up to her.

 

Because the paper.

 

_Fuck._

 

The paper.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

It’s _everywhere._

 

No square of floor is spared and it only increases the reluctance to step out and discover if the forming ocean of A4 paper has a current.

 

“Rose, how am I going to—”

 

Her fingers lace into her own, squeezing with as much reassurance as she can hold.

 

“I’ll help you.”

 

And Rey can only mouth a silent thank you in return.

 

“ _Ah!_ Miss Kenobi!” Hux’s panicked yelp sounds from somewhere across the floor, before immediately gunning towards them and kicking up a flurry of a paper in the process. “I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a situation.”

 

And situation is putting it mildly because not only is the condemned photocopier still shooting paper, but there’s also an intern rolling around on the floor, and attempting snow angels in the aftermath.

 

Which of course Rose immediately finds hilarious.

 

“You can fix it right?” He sounds so desperate, defeated and it’s only then Rey realises his usual sleek demeanour has been replaced with red hair in every direction and his tie sitting practically horizontal in his waistcoat.

 

And she’s not even sure she _can_. ‘Fix it’ sounds so easy. ‘Fix it’ is what she’s always known. Through her childhood, through the number of foster homes, good or bad. Through her education that ignited a pathway to a career she never considered possible.

 

But to fix _this._

 

Well photocopier exorcism might be a little above her pay grade.

 

“Of course!” Rey grins back, the self doubt splitting her smile a little too wide for comfort.

 

“Oh thank god! We’ve been trying to stop it all morning, I’ve tried every code and combination of settings and I even—

 

“Fixed it!”

 

The entire floor falls into silence. The photocopier no longer churning and filling the room with the crackled sound of paper. A room of eyes fall upon Rose, now rising from the side of the wall, with the photocopier plug dangling from her hand.

 

The stalemate is agonising. Nobody moves. Hundreds of people all stood, ankle deep in paper, slowly processing and coming to the realisation that none of them considered the easiest solution of all.

 

_Have you tried turning it off and on again?_

 

“Right.” Hux’s voice is barely a squeak. It sounds painful. “Back to work everyone.”

 

There isn’t a millisecond of hesitation. The entire floor erupt with sudden errands they’ve miraculously discovered they need to do and Hux is already halfway down the corridor, most likely seeking a bathroom to cry in.

 

Nobody seems to address the new paper flooring and it’s only then that Rey realises Kylo is nowhere to be seen. She can’t fight against the disappointment that nibbles at her better judgement.

 

“You know…” Rose comes to her side, kicking paper between each step, watching the eleventh floor come to life around them. “Everyone on this entire floor earns double my salary and not _one_ of them was smart enough to consider pulling the plug.”

 

And the lack of eye contact from the entire room only confirms her statement.

 

“Thank you.” Rey smiles warmly, the gratitude evident as she wraps her arm around her shoulder and squeezes. “But I’m still going to have to open her up and see what the issue is.”

 

It’s not a quick job, nor a clean one.

 

“And then someone is going to have to pick up and stack the paper.”

 

That someone being her.

 

But the warning to run as far away from her and the photocopier doesn’t seem to reach Rose, who within ten minutes, is at her side with a spare pair of overalls and Rey’s selection of tools.

 

“I said I was going to help.” The reminder firm, yet soft in her voice. “So you make a start on the photocopier and I’ll clean up the paper.”

 

It takes her one hour and four boxes.

 

Rey would hug her, if she wasn’t buried deep inside the photocopier, her hands still yet to find whatever the fuck is making it spit blank paper. Her fingers are stained black, her back stretched tight and beginning to burn.

 

And she doesn’t even want to think about the state of her knees right now.

 

But Rose has still yet to break her promise. With the paper safely stacked and stored, she settles for kneeling by Rey’s side and handing whatever tool Rey mumbles for, through the torch she’s holding with her teeth.

 

No one bothers them. Except Phasma, who brings them both lattes and some overpriced coffee chain muffins, before dashing off to solve some delivery crisis in the lobby. Rose practically inhales her own, sparing no crumbs and leaving Rey wondering what she’s done with the casing. But the support is bittersweet because it isn’t long after that when Rose is called away with her own plumbing emergency. Thankfully, it’s a bathroom sink.

 

And, albeit slower, another hour passes.

 

And then one more, with her patience being left somewhere in between. Now only communicating with loud, profuse cursing when she catches her finger inside the mechanism, causing her hand to drop the only screwdriver she has.

 

It rolls somewhere behind her. She can hear the plastic handle rock across the hard floor — taunting her.

 

“Shit!” Rey grits out, her hand stretched out behind her, blindly palming for the stupid thing. “Shit, shit, shit, shi—”

 

“Here.”

 

The world around her stops. Sound and sight in indefinite suspension.

 

She can feel the screwdriver being placed into her hand. But the sensation is overridden. Her entire body spikes with a heightened sense. The cologne hits her first. Deep, familiar and smoked with something she wishes she could hate. His voice already travelling up and biting every notch of her spine, jutting and peaking across her arched position inside the printer.

 

Rey doesn’t need to turn around to know he’s still there — _waiting_.

 

And every nerve ending in her body doesn’t truly come close to combusting until she finds him kneeling before her. Another position that makes his suit trousers tighter around his—

 

_No!_

 

So Rey can’t help but immediately go on the defence.

 

“What do _you_ want?”

 

The corner of Kylo’s mouth twitches with a fleeting betrayal, as if her indifference has become something he craves — which, of course, only pisses her off more.

 

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

 

Her hand tightens around the screwdriver handle. His smile becoming more smug with each passing second.

 

“Thank you—”

 

Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.

 

“ _Ben.”_

 

_Idiot._

 

She can’t help it. She tells herself it’s to piss him off, but is it? Because she can’t help but watch every muscle in his throat struggle with the hard swallow. His lips press and roll with the tension, finally releasing with enough of a parting for her to just lean in and—

 

“How long have you been down here?”

 

Kylo completely ignores her attempt to throw him off. Still yet to stand, he only continues to kneel in front of her and patiently wait for her answer.

 

What the _actual_ fuck.

 

“Several hours.” She says it as if it means nothing, as if her back is _supposed_ to hurt like that.

 

His eyes fall to her hands, stained with the residual printer ink and twiddling the screwdriver nervously between her fingers.

 

“Have you managed to get it working again?”

 

Oh he is _not_ going there.

 

“No.” Rey manages to grit out, the building frustration now tasting bitter in her mouth.

 

“I see.” He nods, before reaching into the inside of his pocket and pulling out his phone. “One moment.”

 

_Oh god._

 

The silence is tense and Rey finds herself obliging him, the pair both still knelt on the floor, while Kylo furiously types into his phone. It’s barely a minute but the wait is an agonising eternity that Rey desperately wants to escape.

 

Every passing second becomes more and more dangerous. She can feel that impulse, that building urge to card her fingers through the thick mass of his hair, just to push it off his face.

 

But she doesn’t.

 

His typing stops. Depositing his phone back into his pocket, Rey is almost certain he’s about to fire her for her incompetence.

 

This is it. Finally after all this time and unprofessionalism, she is _finally_ going to be fir—

 

“A new photocopier will arrive tomorrow.”

 

_Wait._

 

“You can return to your desk now Miss Kenobi.”

 

_What._

 

He still hasn’t risen from the floor. Still waiting patiently for her mouth to stop opening and closing with the shock.

 

“B-but—”

 

“You have ink on you.”

 

He says it almost to himself, his eyes studying across the pebbled freckles on her cheekbone. It’s too delicate for him, making him almost unrecognisable and without hesitation, he brings his thumb to his mouth, swiping moisture onto the pad.

 

“Right _here._ ”

 

There’s no rush to his movement, his eyes concentrated and dark, as he brushes barely against the side of her mouth. The sensation is pleasure and agony all blended into one. Her skin heats with the intimacy and she can feel the blush creep under the strokes of his touch.

 

“There.” His voice resembling nothing but a dark satisfied hum.

 

Jesus, hasn’t her underwear suffered enough today?!

 

And before Rey can even process her response, whether it be verbal or physical — Kylo is already rising to his feet.

 

“And thank you once again Miss Kenobi.”

 

He sounds almost grateful, considerate even.

 

Until he isn’t.

 

Making sure to leave their rivalry intact before he walks away.

 

“For agreeing to work overtime tonight.”

 

Oh yeah. He’s a dead man walking alright.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes. 

 

She’s been standing at the basement elevator for thirty fucking minutes. Not only has she paced the entire server room for double that time, but she's also scrubbed her hands free of ink so aggressively, anyone else would believe Rey was the one to have unblocked the eighth floor toilet.

 

Her palms now only resembling a marbled combination of pink and grey skin. Lady Macbeth wouldn’t stand a chance.

 

 _Oh god_. What is she doing?

 

The doubt is thick and hard to swallow. The anxious panic forms a knot in her throat. Her fingers ghost across the corner of her mouth.

 

_Him._

 

This is ridiculous. She's not even sure what’s compelled her to make this decision — or so she keeps telling herself. Pretending as if she hasn’t been waiting for this moment, for Phasma and Rose to hug her goodbye and make her promise to join them in some downtown bar later. The rest of the building immediately following suit.

 

This is crazy. She can’t — she _shouldn’t_ , she—

 

Her finger presses the elevator button. The doors opening on immediate command.

 

 _Shit._ She's doing it.

 

 _Fuck._ The elevator doors closing in before she can change her mind, carrying her up to —

 

 _Oh god!_ She wants to be sick. Her eyes fix firmly on the level counter.

 

Fifteen.

 

Sixteen. 

 

Seventeen.

 

_Eighteen._

 

Her footing wobbles slightly on the decline. The doors opening up to a floor she never thought she’d want to actively explore. Empty, desolate and it only amplifies the stuttered breath in the cage of her chest. 

 

The first step out is the hardest.

 

There’s a single light coming from his office. Part of her was hoping he had gone home with the rest of them, but the hope is fleeting.

 

Because she has to do this — _giving in._ Since this morning, since the photocopier and the moments that followed. When her knees were still stiff from hours on the floor and her skin still painfully over-sensitised with his touch.

 

It’s all too much.

 

And throughout the rest of the day, she’d find herself in the midst of work, scanning someone’s computer, wrestling with the faulty board room projector and yet there he would be. His eyes stalking every small move she made and despite being on a conference call, or in the midst of a crucial meeting, through the glass, his eyes would wander over every inch of her.

 

And perhaps she could have convinced herself to hate it. She _could_ have. But she didn’t — because Rey found herself indulging in the exact same way. In _any_ way she could.

 

And the first step is the battle.

 

The elevator doors closing behind her is the victory.

 

And every step closer is another brick to the empire of a mind made.

 

Through the glass she can see his office — empty. A soft glow from a lamp in the corner causes the light to cut across the lens of his abandoned glasses.

 

Her hand hovers just barely from the door handle and maybe she’s crazy for turning it. But she wants this. She wants to sit in his chair, her legs stretched out across his desk and claim the room for her own.

 

So she does.

 

And she should feel crazy. Every part of her should be screaming to leave, to get in the elevator before he returns to find the Usurper in his space.

 

It should be — but it doesn’t.

 

Not while she waits.

 

Not when he enters the room, his shirt sleeves rolled and collar popped. The wonderment and curiosity blowing brown eyes black.

 

“You’re in my spot.”

 

And Rey wants this.

 

Rivalry or not; she wants him.

 

So she _does_.

 

“Take off your pants.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before I get into my usual bullshit, I just wanna say a big fat sorry for a three month gap in updates. Like honestly I’m so disappointed in myself that I let my writing block get that bad. 
> 
> But these last three months have been so crazy and beyond anything I could have expected. After six years of being single, I somehow, finally managed to win a jackpot boyfriend (Who I had a massive crush on when I was 17. So it only took me 7 years of mistakes and bad dates to finally find him again) and it's been terrifying and exciting all at once. It was scary letting someone in. I was scared to write for a while. I was scared that he could read it. Part of me still is.
> 
> So when he finally does and if he somehow makes it this far, I hope he knows just how easy it was to fall for him.
> 
> Right okay ew gross, back to the bullshit. Three months, dudes I am sorry. Is this update worth the three month wait? Absolutely not. Is this chapter as funny as the rest? Absolutely not. Am I just glad to share with you guys and get the ball rolling again? Absolutely fucking yes. 
> 
> I’ve missed this. I've missed you. Make sure to catch up with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KahliiRen) & [Tumblr](http://karhli.tumblr.com).


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